


The Serpent’s Soul

by fav_littleleaf



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dundrasil Never Fell AU, El isn't the Luminary, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Pirate King - Freeform, Pirate ship shenanigans, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fav_littleleaf/pseuds/fav_littleleaf
Summary: What happens if your soul thinks and breathes outside you, and your every desire is on display?In a world where Dundrasil never fell and the Luminary hasn't been reborn, Prince El has quite a different set of problems to deal with. The first is his daemon Juturna, who keeps poking her nose everywhere it doesn't belong, and the pirate captain Erik, whose motives he can't work out. Pray enter, traveler, this tale of duty, intrigue, romance, and betr—god damnit Juna come back!(the narrator has stepped away momentarily)
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI), Hero | Luminary & Marutina | Jade (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 109
Kudos: 34





	1. Juturna & Aesgir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince of Dundrasil and the Pirate King meet under unlikely circumstances.  
> (and Hendrik, Jasper, and Jade are Drasilian bc I said so.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the uninitiated, the concept of daemons comes from Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials. Daemons are the external manifestation of a person’s soul.
> 
> this story will be Very Not Canon, if you couldn’t already tell. I wanted to explore how our beloved characters personalities would change due to being brought up in very different circumstances. esp Erik- what will he be like without the promise of the Luminary to save him? There will be some canon-ish events, but twisted/re-experienced through these different personalities.

El turned his face towards the sun, water cascading between his toes, fingers outstretched to guide the damp air in front of him as if he were performing an ancient rite of magic.

Well. That’s what he wanted to be doing.

Instead there was an otter next to him on its hind legs, peering out the window at the river, and a purple-haired monstrosity of a man staring down his forsaken soul.

“Your Highness,” said a strained voice, “Are you quite paying attention?”

“Yeah.” El didn’t bother taking his eyes away from the window. Juna lost interest, though, and started to play with Hendrik’s daemon, a tiny white-furred beagle with one ear and a shield-shaped spot on her belly.

“What did I just say, then?”

“‘Dundrasil would not be the glory it is today if not for the meticulous planning of our forefathers.’”

Hendrik’s lips formed a thin line. He did not retort, and instead resumed his lesson.

It was luck, really, that Hendrik had prompted him at the exact moment El knew what he’d actually said. His attention was slipping in and out in time to catch a bad pun or two, but it wasn’t much more than that. Something about expansion and city infrastructure and gods be _damned_ if he wasn’t born into the wrong time and place.

“What I want to know is why we can’t have waterways through the town,” El said, keeping his voice light. 

Hendrik paused — _finally_ — in his soliloquy, long enough to glare at El. “You know how unusual it is that your Juna is... aquatic.” 

“That doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be accommodated,” El muttered. 

“What was that, Your Highness?” 

“Nothing, sir. You’re right, the money would be better elsewhere.”

“Correct. Now, I suggest you call her off,” Hendrik said. He tilted his head towards Juna, who was no longer strictly playing with the beagle beside her. It was more like _hounding_ , if they’d forgive him now having spent way too much time around Hendrik’s unfortunate humor. The beagle mewled in protest as Juna bounded around her, nipping at her ear.

“Sorry, I think we should go. It’s been a while since we’ve been down to the river.”

Hendrik gave him a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Take your leave. But we will resume promptly with the morning’s rooster.”

“Great. Come on, Juna.”

♫

Juna skipped along beside him on his way out of the castle, and his spirits lifted when the sun grazed his cheeks. His lessons with Hendrik and Jasper were at best irritating, and at worst ended in sparring matches (although he had to confess he rather liked those). Everyone insisted he be so prim and proper and the politics of it killed him. Why couldn’t everyone just get along and be happy?

It had been worse than usual recently, with pressure mounting for him to be prepared to take the mantle of his kingdom at any time, and to find a suitable partner. With a _girl_ , no less. Ugh.

Anyway, that was neither here nor there, not now. He tilted his head back and sucked in a deep breath, absorbing the smell of lavender jars from front porches, fresh sourdough bread from the markets down the road, and the damp air of a rainstorm just passed. Children’s laughter and the clopping of horseshoes assaulted his ears in the best way possible. 

“Hey, watch where you’re going!”

He crashed headlong into Jade, who reached out to steady him before he crashed into Juna, too. She was the picture of elegance, dressed in flowing dark purple robes embellished with gold flourishes. She laughed, her eyes crinkling as she considered the mess of El’s existence. 

“You headed to the river?”

El nodded, and she fell into step beside him. His sister always lifted his mood after lessons, and it was fitting that her daemon was an eagle who soared behind them as they walked. She chattered at him, and he let himself relax into the sound of her voice. 

“Well? Did you have a good time with Hendrik this morning?” 

“Yeah. Learned that no one wants Juna to have more water.” He reached out to run his fingers along the stone arch that opened into the bridge leading out of the city. It was still damp from the recent rain.

“Oh, Ellie.” She sighed. “It’s really best if you take those lessons seriously, you know.”

“I do. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

Jade considered him, and he didn’t like how seriously she was doing it. “What did you learn a few days ago? About that staff?”

“Oh– it’s been lost for decades, it’s supposed to have potent healing properties — they say it can cure even the most venomous snake bite —”

She didn’t even need to say anything to make her point.

“Okay, but that was actually interesting —” he protested.

“I know you like to put on this front, but part of you cares. Deep down.”

He grunted in response. As they descended the bridge further towards the outskirts of Dundrasil, Juna took to the river with a great, cresting leap. He felt the spray on his cheeks from the splash somewhere below them. 

“This is your home, Ellie. You’re stuck here, so you might as well make the best of it.”

“Yeah, alright,” he said, wishing for once that he hadn’t run into her. Juna bounced happily in the water as they made their way to the bank to join her.

She apparently decided not to pester him further, because her face softened when he looked up at her. Her eagle was perched on her shoulder, ruffling its feathers and eyeing Juna warily. He probably knew better than to hunt for fish when Juna was around.

“Did Hendrik tell you what happened this morning?”

“He may have mentioned it.” He had, but El wasn't about to tell Jade he remembered. 

“They’ve captured the captain of a pirate ship.”

“You don’t say.” He knelt near the water next to Juna and batted at some lazy minnows in the water. He twirled one into the air for Juna to catch, and she leapt after it.

“It’s not just any ship, Ellie. Jasper has been hunting them down for months.”

“Where are they from?”

“Up north. But that’s all we know about him. No one even knows his name.”

After catching a few minnows, he remembered that he meant to go down there anyway to give one of the prisoners food from the kitchens. He liked to help them, and if he were to find out about life _beyond_ , well, that was just a fringe benefit. Maybe this new one would have interesting stories to tell. He should, if he was elusive enough to not have a name.

“How does no one know his name?”

“I don’t know. But Jasper likes to call him _vermin_. Maybe use that if you run into him.”

El giggled. She was doing a poor job of hiding the contempt in her voice. Both she and Jasper had a thing for Hendrik, but Hendrik was clueless to all of it. He had half a mind to slap Hendrik upside the head with it one day, but it was too amusing to watch them squabble.

“I’ll see what I can do,” El said, and he meant it more than Jade knew.

♫

Armed with sandwiches after dinner, El peered around the corner. He knew the passages well enough by now that he could avoid the guards on his way into the dungeons, but the thought of being caught was still terrifying. He couldn't have anyone knowing that the prince fraternized with _prisoners_. 

The joke was on them in the end, though — the prisoners were some of the most interesting people he'd ever met. 

Just when he was about to tiptoe down into the passage, a shouting match and the trample of feet in the next hallway shattered the silence. His heart stuttered in his chest and he pressed Juna to his side. 

El turned the corner into an alcove that connected the two halls, flattening himself against the wall. He inched closer.

He tilted his head out as much as he dared. Someone was being dragged down the hall. He couldn’t make out any details about the figure except that it was struggling, flanked by guards on all sides. A troupe of daemons followed them, rats and pigeons and a one-eared beagle. A few curious eyes peeked out of rooms further down than him, and in a panic he twisted his head back into the cover of the alcove.

“Bar the doors,” Jasper’s voice barked. “This one’s not getting out again!”

“Yes, sir!”

A mutter he couldn't catch.

"You'll hold your tongue if you know what's good for you." Jasper again, rougher this time.

El pressed himself even further against the wall, heart pounding. Was this the prisoner Jade had been telling him about earlier? Some hurry he was in, if he couldn't even last a few hours in the dungeon.

Footsteps faded away in the direction opposite him, and he heaved a sigh. But the relief was short-lived.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Jasper snapped. Then added: “Your Highness?”

“I, er… just have a meeting with R– I mean, Lord Robert.”

Jasper eyed him. “Down here?”

“I’m just on my way,” he said in what he hoped was a smooth voice. His heart was about to beat out of his chest. “Sandwich?”

If it was possible for Jasper’s eyes to narrow even more, they did. “What kind?”

“Fried tuna.”

They stared each other down, and just when El was convinced this whole act was the wrong move, Jasper thrust out his hand to take the proffered sandwich.

“As you were,” he said, gruffly, and El interpreted it as _thank you_.

As the hall descended once more into silence, El considered his options. Juna nuzzled at his hand and he stroked her absently. He knew he should probably call it a day and get on with some training, but also knew that there was a particularly chronically sleepy guard on duty tonight. The wait would not be long for the high alertness to settle down… and damn if he wasn’t curious.

 _He's from up north_ , Jade had said. Maybe El could go there… leave this place behind. 

He dismissed the thought as soon as it came. He couldn't just leave, not with so many people counting on him.

He had to keep his mind on what was practical: for now, he would wait until it was safe to sneak into the dungeons. That was that.

When the sun was dipping low over the horizon, and the coast seemed clear of maids and guards, he returned to the passage. He inched down the stairs, back against the stone wall, descending into the dark coolness. He stopped short of the landing and took stock of what he could see. There were only two guards milling about, and they were engaged in a whispered conversation. Nothing he couldn’t sidestep if necessary.

He stopped to whisper hello to a woman from Octagonia who had been caught trying to steal food for her six children. But she wasn't as responsive as usual, and all but snatched the food from his hands.

“Boy, I wouldn’t mess around down here if I were you. That new kid? His daemon is a snake.”

He felt like someone had splashed a cold bucket of water over him. _A snake?_ There were legends about snake daemons. They were never good news, even when their humans seemed alright. If he had learned anything from the years of lessons, it was that.

The damp, musty air of the dungeon didn’t help him get more oxygen from his shallow breaths. He realized with another unpleasant splash that Juna was not near him.

“Juna,” he hissed, trying to keep quiet and simultaneously fight rising panic.

After too long a search, his eyes finally cast over her small form. She was pawing and sniffing at the bars of a cell three doors down from El. A soft hissing floated from it.

“Juna, we should go. Don’t antagonize them.”

But she didn’t move. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes for a moment in the dim light. 

Then she pressed her body down to the ground and slipped under the bottom bars of the cell.

" _Juna_."

His plea fell on deaf ears as she disappeared from sight. With as much courage as he could muster, he tiptoed up to the cell. He couldn’t see much in the darkness. A boy was leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed over his chest. His hair was wild and unkempt. His snake perched near him, staring at Juna with red eyes.

“Don’t you think you’ve ribbed me enough today?” The boy's voice was a raspy, Northern drawl.

“I-I– no, I’m not a guard, I just —” 

El didn’t know how to finish the sentence. There was a sharp intake of breath. 

Juna circled the snake, sniffing at him, and he inspected her in turn. It had been a long time since he’d seen her take such an interest in a stranger’s daemon.

“Who are you?” the boy asked.

“No one important,” El said, with practiced casualness. “I like to bring food down here sometimes.”

“Thank you, but the guards just brought some down.”

“And you _ate it?”_

The boy laughed. El resisted an urge to shush him, shooting a glance over his shoulder. The hallway was still empty. “We take what we can get. We’re not choosy.”

“Have some for later, then.”

After a pause, he nodded. El reached down to deposit a package of the stolen food through the hole in the bars.

A coy smile spread over the boy’s face. “Can I give a name to my benefactor?”

“I’m, ah…” El coughed. “I’m Hendrik.”

“Hendrik,” the boy repeated. “You make a habit of lying about your name?”

“No.”

“Just to me, then.”

El couldn’t deny this, so he said nothing. Other people didn’t _ask._ They knew the rules: this was a place of anonymity and shame. For them and for him. He glanced down at Juna. She was tilting her head down towards the snake, almost in a bow.

“What about you?”

“They call me Captain.” _Sure_ , lies in exchange for lies. He couldn’t complain. The boy smiled again, though it was more a lopsided smirk than anything else. “And this is Aesgir.” 

He gestured to the snake, who had placed its head on Juna’s neck.

El had a sudden desire to flee. It was weird enough to see Juna take an interest in another daemon, much less cozy up with them. And a damn _snake_ — 

"Listen, I… I've got to go. We shouldn't be here." He backed away. "Juna, please."

She gazed at him, her expression utterly content, only picking herself up when Aesgir lifted his head. She slinked back through the cell door the same way she had come. He made a mental note to talk to Hendrik about supposed infrastructure.

When she finally reached him, he turned on his heel. “Goodnight, Captain,” he said curtly.

It wasn’t until he reached the hidden passageway that he heard the whisper:

“Goodnight, Your Highness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that happened....  
> who's interested in seeing this continue? raise ur hands if ur down
> 
> edit: the disaster of comment trains below is -NOT- free of Act 2/3 spoilers   
> tread carefully, traveler


	2. No Questions

The ballroom was abuzz with chatter in preparation for the royal ball. A pair of servants adorned the windows with an extravagant purple and gold display, and another pair muttered to each other about the napkin folds (“swans are _hardly_ necessary!”). Someone’s cat chased a mouse around the room under their feet. 

A violinist and a cellist played a lively gavotte near the eastern windows, accompanying El’s rehearsal with Jade. The sun streamed in on them, highlighting the big smile on the violinist’s face as she cued in her partner.

El didn’t get to absorb the cellist’s joy for very long, though, because Jade spun him in a half-turn and his vision whirled. Surely lunch had to be soon — it was his only break with Juna among a day of lessons and meetings with Dundrasil’s most, er… formal, before the ball that weekend. It was sure to be an _engaging_ display.

He was working on being more diplomatic, and thought himself rather good. 

Until Jade turned him the other half-turn and he had to stick out an errant foot to keep his balance.

“Are we nearly done?” he gasped.

“Not until you get these steps right. It’s first dance, Ellie. You have to make a good impression.”

“I don’t care about impression —”

“You will when you face father’s wrath that you haven’t found a marriage partner by the end of the night!”

El groaned. He didn’t like to think about that. Time was dwindling for him to grow up, and even Rab and his father had been short with him recently. So he complied, letting Jade lead him around the room. Juna pranced around them, as if she got to dance too, and El had to shoo her out of the way more than once. Jade’s eagle regarded them from his perch on the window.

“Now we both twist here, four steps forward. _Inward_ turn, El.”

He followed, and as they repeated it for the tenth time, he found himself relaxing into it. He let the rhythm of their steps pull him out of his thoughts about napkins and finding his dearly betrothed, and into thoughts about the wind in his hair and the call of birds overhead. And there was the water, swaying along with them in a dance of its own, carrying ships on its lilting breeze… maybe a foghorn, calling its crew to action…

“Hey, Jade?”

She shot him a glare, as if expecting him to complain further.

“What do you know about that pirate from yesterday?”

Her face softened into a grin. “Weren’t so interested yesterday, were you?”

He considered ducking on the next turn, let her barrel into the musicians and see how she liked it. “I’m interested now.”

“Four steps, not three!”

“I did take four —”

Jade sighed and made them return to the beginning of the section, snapping her fingers at the musicians to follow. “I don’t know much, to be honest. Hendrik and Jasper were the ones who captured him, you’d have to ask them.”

Great, the top of the list of people Not To Ask about things he had a genuine interest in. Not things like this, anyway. “What happened to the rest of the ship? Did they leave with anything?”

“They came in from the Zwaardsrust port.” She glared at him again, daring him to take three steps instead of four. “The rest of the crew escaped. We have a search party on the seas for them.”

El didn’t ask more, sensing her reluctance, and they were silent for the rest of the dance. When they reached the end of their practiced routine, Jade gazed at him, their arms still around each other. Her expression was soft but calculating.

“Look, you should be careful. Don’t get tangled up with him. It might be dangerous, okay?”

“Yeah. I’m not about to go waltzing down there.”

“No,” she agreed. “You’d have to remember the steps for that.”

♫

It was late evening when El finally plucked up the courage to visit the mysterious pirate. On one hand, he wasn’t keen on dying or being attacked, but he wanted to know, _had_ to know, where this boy went and why. He wanted what this boy had, and some scary snake wasn’t going to stop him.

At least, he hoped it wouldn’t. 

With the moon carving out his path, he crept down the stairs to the dungeons. He traced his fingertips along the cold stone wall, smooth but littered with cracks. As he descended further, he was greeted by the familiar stench of urine and moist fear. He breathed it in deeply, channeling the feelings to grasp at a stronger version of himself.

Juna followed by his side, solemn for once; her paws splashed lightly among the shallow puddles. He checked for activity around the next corner, and found none save for the light snoozing of a guard against the far wall.

When he reached the boy’s cell, the snake raised its slimy head and moved to the front of their entrapment. 

“You again,” it whispered in a soft hiss. The boy raised his head, too, to consider them. He was leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

El didn’t reply to the snake. He dug into his pocket to pull out a silver key, and turned and clicked it in the lock. Juna squeezed in through the door, towards Aesgir, and they began to circle each other slowly once more. El locked the gate and slipped down against the wall across from the boy.

Maybe there was more firelight flickering from the torches this time, or maybe he wasn’t as afraid, but El took in the boy’s appearance for the first time as they considered each other.

He had bright blue eyes like the sea, and a striking hair color that matched that exact tone. He looked rugged and disheveled, dressed in a green tunic that left a little too much skin on display.

“Your Highness,” came that rough drawl. “This is bold of you.”

Juna was bowing her head deeply now in front of Aesgir. He considered her, his eyes nothing more than slits. 

“I have some questions,” El said, trying to channel his deeply-buried princeliness, “And you have answers.”

The boy smiled at him. It was a petulant spread that made El want to slap it off him. He spoke in a whisper — presumably so they wouldn’t be overheard — but it had the unfortunate consequence of making him pleasant to listen to. “What makes you think I’ll give them to you?”

“Because I’m the one who has power here,” El said. 

Even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was a lie. Deep under Dundrasil castle, in the mucky wetness that housed the city’s roughest ruffians, this was not his turf. Both he and the _captain_ knew it.

Aesgir was bent low to the ground now, too, and they must have reached some silent understanding, for Juna gave a jerk of her head and sat up.

“Go ahead, then. Let’s see if my answers will satisfy you.”

El shifted on the ground, lifting the corner of his cloak that had muddled itself in a suspiciously-smelling puddle. “How do you know who I am?”

The captain’s reply was instant. “You have a reputation.”

“ _What_ does that mean?”

He laughed now, an infuriatingly musical sound. "You think what you're doing is a secret? That no one has ever wondered where you disappear to, has never followed you?"

El’s mind reeled. Was he telling the truth? Or was he just trying to rile him up? El took a deep breath. This kid wasn’t the first ingrate he’d had to deal with, and it wouldn’t be the last. He did his best to ignore the fact that Aesgir, now, was the one dipping his neck over Juna. He shuddered against the desire to flee.

“Let’s say I believe you,” El said, dragging his attention back to the captain. “You’ve been here for two days. How do _you_ know what goes on down here?”

“I always have an ear open, Your Highness. Half of thievery is listening.”

“Don't call me that.”

That _smile_ again. “What would you like me to call you?”

“By my name is a good start,” El muttered.

“Okay then, _Eleven_ , what else would you like to know?”

“If you’re as slippery as everyone says you are, why haven’t you escaped yet? And it’s _El_.”

The captain pouted at him. “What can I say? You have a good prison system here.”

“God, do you ever —” El stopped himself before he could make it worse, and forced himself to scale it back. “Look, I know you get off on playing people, but it won't work on me.”

“Is that so? It seems to be working so far.”

And there he was, smiling again, like he couldn’t enjoy anything more than flustering the Prince of Dundrasil.

“It’s my turn for a question,” the captain continued. “What is it that you really want?”

El grit his teeth. If this was going to be their dynamic — useless blow for useless blow, nothingness hidden behind a smokescreen of smirks and one-liners — he needed to find a way behind it. A way to surprise him so fluently that the damned captain could only gasp.

El breathed in and readied himself for the blow. It was now or nothing.

“Take me on your ship.”

The captain’s pause was just an edge longer than comfortable. He raised a hand to ruffle the hair at the back of his head. 

“Wow, I'll admit I thought the Prince of Dundrasil would be a little more difficult as a conquest, but if you insist —”

“Not like _that!”_

“Keep your voice down. This is how people find out about you.”

El fumed and clenched his hands into fists. The _nerve_ of this kid… and not only that, but that each time, Juna had instantly cozied up with his daemon? The very thought that their souls liked each other or were in any way compatible… something seriously wrong was going on here. Maybe he was going down the wrong road, maybe there really was nothing behind that smokescreen.

El made to stand. “Juna, let’s go.”

“Let’s not get hasty, El. You want something from me. I want something from you. This could be mutually beneficial.”

El sank back down to the ground with a plop _._ “Yeah, sure. I let you out of here, I get to leave too. Everyone’s happy.”

“Nice try, but I think we both know I can leave without your help.”

El bit his tongue. It wasn’t worth fighting anymore. “What do you want?”

“I want information on the staff of Asclepius.” 

El swallowed a gasp. The staff was a mythical object, laid down in legends for its power; if this boy wanted it, there was nothing good that he could be planning to do with it. But maybe he could pretend to be amenable — if only he could play the game the captain was playing… 

“Why do you want to know?” he said carefully.

“I have to insist that the trade of information, and _locations_ , does not come with questions about motives.”

El swallowed. No questions? About his nefarious dealings? Although perhaps that was best… and maybe good if the captain didn’t know things about Dundrasil, either.

“In fact,” the captain continued, “It’s the first rule of my ship. And royals aren’t exempt from the rules.”

El leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “Listen, _cap_ , I don’t know much about the staff except that no one knows where it is. You’re barking up the wrong ship.”

“I’m here on intel that it’s here.”

“You’re here on _intel_ — you’re here on the mercy of Drasilian knights!”

_“Shh!”_

Juna and Aesgir instantly lifted their heads. El had the space of a mutter to react before footsteps marched towards their cell. Which is to say he didn’t react.

“Get down,” he hissed under his breath. 

Juna dove between a few pots and the wall, drawing a _clink_ from the lids as they rattled. The captain seized his arm and shoved him to the furthest, darkest corner, then replaced himself against the wall as if he had never moved at all.

Aesgir slithered away from them to the front of the cell. It greeted the guards with a low hiss and a flick of its tongue. 

From his folded position in the corner, El couldn’t determine where they were, but the voices sounded distant over the frantic beating of his heart. “Vermin. Who was talking just now?”

The captain carded a casual hand through his hair. “Just me talkin’ to my snake.”

“That’s not what a snake sounds like.”

“Possibly because that’s what I sound like, sir.”

 _How can he be like this right now?_ El thought desperately, trying to curl further against the wall. If he wasn’t about to die from a venomous snake, he was about to be found and outcast from his kingdom. Some options those were —

“We know you’re doing something suspicious in there. Call off the snake.”

Keys jingled, and he swore he heard the clang of metal on metal. Then… two steps back.

He wanted to say something — try to reduce the damage as much as he could — but the captain cleared his throat loudly at the same time. When he spoke, his voice was silk.

“Aesgir is a bush viper. It would be a shame if Annabelle never got to see her father at her dance recital tomorrow afternoon. Pity for dinner, too.” He looked up at them and flashed what El imagined was the exact same smirk the captain had directed at him seconds ago. 

“And all that trouble for something that amounted to nothing more than me sitting in my cell, like a good prisoner.”

El didn’t dare even breathe, lest his fear strangle him. There was quite a lot riding on the success of the captain’s honeyed threat. _How did they instantly go from enemies to partners in secrecy?_ And how did that happen while he was also still so goddamn afraid of what Aesgir could do to him?

He could only see the guards in slanted profile, and they were very still. Their silence seemed to stretch on forever, punctuated only by the subtle slither of Aesgir’s body and the crackling of torch flames.

An odd feeling of exhilaration unfurled in his chest at the same time. Was this what he could look forward to, as a pirate? Not dusty books and cloying dances, but drawing swords and fearing for his life? Under pain of exile, he couldn’t say he didn’t want it.

Finally, the guards muttered something. Their steps faded away shortly after. El allowed himself a sharp exhale. He slowly uncurled himself into a sitting position.

The captain was near him, holding out a hand, but not near enough to touch him. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” El muttered, twisting away from him.

The captain considered him for a moment. His face was unreadable in the flickering light. “Listen… if you come with me, I won't hurt you. But I can't promise that about anyone else.”

“I can handle it.”

He laughed. It was different this time — just as musical, but not quite so irritating. “You're plucky. I like it.”

“Don’t,” El muttered, resisting the urge to twist away further. “I should get going before anyone else comes knocking. I’ll… be back.”

“Hold on there, one more question.” The captain considered him. He spoke far too quietly, too intimately, for comfort. “Is there anyone who knows that you aren’t keen on being here?”

“No,” he said automatically.

He knew he said it too quickly for it to be believable, and he saw it reflected in the captain’s eyes. There was an uncomfortable pause as he considered the implications of that _yes_.

“Am I correct in assuming that, if anyone thought that you left of your own accord, there would be hell to pay?”

El didn’t even bother to answer that one.

“Then you know what we’ll have to do,” the captain whispered, leaning closer into him. He smelled of salt and seagulls and freedom. “They’ll have to see me take you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for the DrAmA in chapter 3  
> yeeeeee


	3. The Legend of the Serpent's Staff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this was supposed to be one chapter but my brain wouldn't shut up (opposite of my usual problem) so it's now two chapters. but you're getting both at the same time cause I thought it cruel to cliffhanger you for this one. you're welcome lol
> 
> it's all chaos up in here folks and it is W I L D

_This is the love story of Dolos and Aphrodite.  
_ _Aphrodite was a seducer, but Dolos wanted to seduce her; he wanted Beauty all to himself. And so he did: with his witty charm and pompous good looks, it was a matter of weeks before she was curled around his finger.  
_ _With Hephaestus’ Flame, Aphrodite forged a scepter made of the finest iron in all Erdrea,_ _said to cure all illness, as a gift for Dolos and his serpent.  
_ _“Take my heart,” she said, “And take with it the power to destroy me.”  
_ _Indeed, Aphrodite’s phoenix daemon was invincible to all except this staff: a symbol of her everlasting trust._

 _When they lay together one night in winter, Dolos’ greed overcame him.  
_ _He tried to slay the phoenix with the staff, wanting Aphrodite all to himself, but the phoenix would not die; he cried to his serpent to bite, to bite, and it crawled around the staff, poised for the final blow, rearing back its foul head;  
_ _and then all at once the phoenix gave an anguished cry and crumbled to ash for the final time.  
_ _But without her soul, so, too, succumbed Aphrodite to the welcome arms of Death; and in his sorrow Dolos perished also.  
_ _The serpent remains curled around the staff to this day: cursed to never again heal another._

El woke to a sharp pain in his cheek. He shot up in his hard wooden chair, pressing fingers to his face. Indentations were etched into his cheek from the pages of the book he had fallen asleep on. He groaned. Juna’s whine answered him from below the table.

The next realization was worse than his aching limbs. It was morning in the secluded library — more than that, by the angle of the sun — and he'd slept through a whole slew of meetings that he was supposed to sit in on with Rab and his father. Birds chirped outside the window and bounced on wobbly tree branches, laughing at him.

El stared blearily at the books in front of him. He hadn’t slept for what felt like days. Finding out what he could about the pirate captain and the mysterious staff consumed his consciousness. Books told conflicting tales about its purpose, but this — the legend of the serpent’s staff — was the one he kept coming back to. He wondered how it had saturated society so much that even the presence of a snake daemon in a room set everyone on edge.

Why should this story inspire such fear? Sure, the snake killed Aphrodite. But a lot of daemons could be dangerous, just like humans. And besides, Drasilian rumors were that the staff could heal, so probably none of this had ever happened. It was just a silly little legend. There was no reason the pirate captain should be more dangerous than any other.

Which was just as well, because with the number of ways he was failing Dundrasil at age nineteen, he might as well never show his face in the castle again.

“Oh, Ellie. There you are.”

“Mother,” he choked out. His voice came out at an embarrassingly high pitch. She glided next to him at the table. She didn't cross her arms or wear an angry expression, but she somehow managed to convey disappointment in him all the same.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m supposed to be — I got carried away with studying last night and —” He realized the page was still open to the serpent’s legend, and tried to casually ease it closed with his elbow. 

Instead of replying, she pulled out the chair next to him and sank down into it (how did she do that so gracefully?). The ruffles of her dress reached all the way up to the underside of the table. He stopped babbling immediately.

Queen Eleanor sighed. “We need to talk, Eleven.”

More apologies ached to tumble out of his lips, but he held them shut. “What is it?”

“You missed your meetings last night. That’s the fourth time this month. The only reason you haven't missed lessons is because Hendrik or Jasper has dragged you out of bed. It’s the afternoon of your finding a _betrothal_ partner, and you’re reading about Erdrean legends.”

Hot shame dripped down him like an egg cracked over his head. He coughed and tried to splutter an apology, but she spoke over him.

“It is imperative, more than ever, that you focus on your growth as the future king.”

With his arm still covering the books, he managed to find his voice. “I really have been trying my hardest. I’ve gotten better at diplomatic strategy, and the other day I beat Jasper in a duel —”

He desperately wanted her to smile, but her lips remained in a stubbornly thin line. 

“That may be true. Regardless, the truth is: if you were to take the throne now, Dundrasil would be the shame of Erdrea.”

El inclined his head in deep shame. He felt Juna stir beside him, but he couldn’t bear to look at her. “You’re right,” he whispered.

The queen let the silence linger, let him feel the weight of his responsibility. He wanted to tell her what was constantly bubbling up inside of him: _what if I’m just not cut out for this_ and _no matter how hard I try I still fail you._ But how could she respond positively to that? What could he say that would make him into something she was proud of?

“I just —” His throat gulped without his permission. “I feel like I’m not —”

Just as he was about to admit… _something_ (he wasn’t sure what yet), a Drasilian guard came careening into the room. Of course that would be his luck.

“Your Majesty,” the guard said, breathlessly, “many apologies for the interruption. There is a situation in the throne room which requires your immediate attention.”

His mother's sharp gaze traveled over the guard's disheveled form. “I will come right away.” She turned to El and said, in a softer tone, “We’ll talk later, honey. Get along to work now.”

“But I —”

But his words were met only with silence as the two left the room. The empty room smarted with the ghost of his mother’s words. _Dundrasil_ _would be the shame of Erdrea._ He knew there wouldn’t be a later.

He put his head in his arms on the desk. If he was really screwing up that much, then maybe it was better for everyone if he left. Sure, was it possible that he was being nothing more than a reckless fool by running off with the pirate captain? With someone who had the same power to destroy him as Dolos had to Aphrodite?

He knew the answer was yes, but as strongly as the voice in his head insisted it, another voice shouted just as stubbornly:

_What are you worth if not for the crown on your head?_

_Who do you think you are fooling?_

The answers were _nothing_ and _no one_ and he couldn't bear it, not anymore, not for this.

♫

_“We’ll wait until nightfall. We’ll have an easier time if we do this under the cover of darkness.”_

To anyone who wasn’t planning on being kidnapped by the end of the night, the ballroom was the picture of radiance. Open windows welcomed the late afternoon sun and a billowing breeze. Throngs of people melted in and out of conversational dyads and triads and polyads with the fluidity of swans gliding through water. 

For El, though, the extravagance was a reminder of everything that could go wrong later. The sandwiches piled on the table were just piles of tomatoes and lettuce waiting to be strewn across the floor; the crowds of snickering girls were just yells of terror waiting to be drawn from their throats. The violins nestled under their owners’ chins were just props to be thrown aside when music no longer suited the occasion.

El sighed. He wanted to enjoy this, he did. But as he stared out at the ballroom floor through the dressing room, letting the music and voices waft over him, the only thing that cut through was the pirate captain’s voice.

_“We need to make it from the ballroom, downstairs, and out to the cliffs. Some of my crew members are stationed there. They’ll take us safely to the ship.”_

“Hey. You nervous?” 

El took a step back, barely managing to suppress a yelp. Jade was next to him, peering through the gap in the curtains too, like she was trying to find what he was staring at.

“Of course I’m not,” he managed.

“Good. Because there’s nothing to be nervous about.” 

He wasn’t quite sure about that, but then he hadn’t been truthful either.

_“Are you listening? This is going to be dangerous. Your tasks are two: do what I say, and look like you’re afraid.”_

El had muttered something mutinous in response, like _it’s not hard to be afraid when you’re around_ , but the captain had just laughed. Softly, so they wouldn’t be overheard, and it was the softness that got to him.

In the space between them Jade found his hand, and the warmth of it soothed his betraying heartbeat.

“Look,” she whispered as they looked out at the ballroom floor together. “Cutie at 5 o’clock.”

A boy stood at the table closest to the steps that led down to the dance floor proper. He had scruffy, shoulder-length blond hair, and a puffy white hat with a feather adorned at the front. He was gesticulating wildly and grinning as he spoke to a Snifleimian scholar.

He was pretty enough, El supposed, but had a bit of a dopey air about him. Was that how other people saw _him?_ He shivered.

As the boy reached the arc of whatever tale he was spinning, his arm whacked into a servant behind him. A tray of drinks and assorted hors d’oeuvre went flying into the air around them, and one of the drinks landed upside-down straight over the boy’s white hat. 

“Well,” Jade said. “Never mind.”

They turned away then, not wanting to witness any more of that debacle, and El found Juna nosing at their hands. An otter deserved affection too, after all.

Jade laughed and knelt in front of her. “Yes, thank you for reminding us! You need your crown too.”

She reached for the chair near them and pulled off a Juna-sized crown. It was an exact replica of El’s but in miniature: a gold band that rose up to form the Drasilian crest at the forehead, and a shining red gemstone at its center. Jade placed it between Juna’s ears, twisting it until it sat snugly on her head.

“You’ll have to avoid jumping around so much with this on,” Jade said softly, sitting back to admire her.

From somewhere behind them, Jade’s eagle, Augustine, ruffled his feathers. “I should hardly think she’s capable.”

“That’s what we’re thinking, but you don’t have to say it out loud,” El muttered, as Juna glared back at him (while impressively managing to keep the crown on her head).

Jade ignored them. She reached into her pocket to withdraw a shiny purple ribbon. Juna sat up proudly on her hind legs and puffed out her chest as Jade tied it around her neck.

“Look at you! Fit for a queen!”

El did have to admit her elegance, and felt a bit strange about it; did he truly have something royal inside himself that he just hadn’t figured out how to access yet?

Jade got to her feet and turned back to El. As if she had heard what he was thinking, she said: “If only you could be more like her, Ellie.”

“Yeah, I love you too. Maybe don’t be more like Augustine.”

“Oh, live a little.”

“I will do no such thing,” El retorted.

But his moment of respite was over, because as soon as his grin touched his face, a voice began booming throughout the hall. “Please join me in welcoming His Royal Highness, Eleven, Crown Prince of Dundrasil, and his royal otter, Her Highness Juturna!”

“Oh look, that’s you!” Jade said, with poorly disguised glee, and pushed him out to the red carpet.

El exhaled a shaky breath and attempted to smooth down his cloak that Jade had unceremoniously ruffled. A fanfare of trumpets and low brass rang out through the hall and settled between his ears, to match the volume of his errant heartbeats. Juna walked beside him, her crown held high, and he tried to channel her clear comfort in what felt like the least comfortable thing in existence. _Stand up straight, don’t trip, smile at everyone, you’ll be fine_ , he repeated, ad nauseum.

Of course there was another voice that cut through the haze.

 _“When we get to the water, I’m going to cut the ropes around your arms so you can break your fall._ Don’t _land on your head. Would be a shame, after all that effort.”_

Finally, El reached the center of the room, where Queen Eleanor was waiting for him. She smiled, holding out her hand amidst a flowing gold ballgown whose diameter exceeded most doorways. He stepped into his mother’s arms for the first dance, and the breath he had been holding in his chest eased out of him in a sigh. He hadn’t screwed everything up quite yet. Maybe it would be alright.

After the dance, and a few more formalities, El was let free to meet his suitors.

The early part of the evening passed in a blur of stepped-on toes, spiked cider, sandwiches, and suitors who were just as awkward as him (luckily he didn’t run into that one boy again). He leaned against one of the serving tables to take a breather, nursing a third glass of cider. 

Maybe he would finally get a break. They were all nice enough (some of them even quite pretty), but none of them interested or infuriated him quite like… well. He didn’t want to think about it. There was already enough of that in his head. 

“Erm… Your Highness?”

El whirled around to face the voice behind him. Another mousy-looking blonde (what was with the blondes today?) smiled up at him. She had a red bandana tied in a bow at the back of her head, and a ferret peeked out at him from behind the girl’s neck.

“Sorry to bother you, Your Highness,” she said. “My name is Gemma. Would you happen to fancy a dance partner?”

 _Not really, no,_ his brain said as their daemons bowed to each other and he placed a light hand at her waist. She smiled at him again.

“So… that cider, huh?” El said, having nothing else to say as he put the glass down to take her hand. The swish of bodies around them made him dizzy, and he tried to focus on what she was saying.

The upturn of her smile turned into a straight line, and he thought it had to be a record for making a potential partner frown. “It’s… erm, not really my thing. I like drinking juice from fresh-squeezed apples.”

“Right. I, um. Didn’t like it much either.”

He did, though, because it was making him fuzzy, and that’s what he needed at this particular moment. He wondered if Jade would approve of his superior courting abilities.

_“What? You want to know what I do for fun? ... I can’t say no to a glass of rum sometimes. And sharing it with a cute boy or two is good, too.”_

El cleared his throat, as if that would also clear the unwelcome captain’s voice from his head. He twirled her around the ballroom, zig-zagging her this way and that as the orchestra serenaded them. Focusing on the steps of the dance and making conversation wasn’t going very well ( _four steps, not three!_ ). He only narrowly avoided stepping on Juna’s tail as she frolicked around Gemma’s ferret.

“Where are you from, Gemma?” he tried.

“I’m from Cobblestone. Nice little town south of Heliodor.”

“Cobblestone, huh? I’ve never heard of it. Is it… nice there?” El said. He decided Jade wouldn’t approve of his superior courting abilities. Gemma’s hand was sliding a little too close to his neck.

“Yeah! It’s quite a lovely little place.” Not only was her hand on his neck, but he swore she was looking him up and down as they turned past another couple of dancers who weren’t leaving much room for a goddess. “Dundrasil has its own charm too, though, doesn’ it?”

El was trying to figure out how to gracefully escape when that voice bullied its way into his head one more time:

_“If I told you where I was from that would ruin the mystery, wouldn’t it? A captain can’t have everyone knowing his secrets. And you’re not supposed to ask questions, El.”_

“God, would you get out of my head for once?” El snapped.

Gemma’s face crumbled all at once, and El’s heart crumbled with it. She stopped abruptly, and her hands fell from his shoulders. “Sorry, I-I… didn’t think I was —”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean you — I’m sorry, I– I think I just had a little bit too much to drink, that’s all,” he spluttered, trying to recover an unrecoverable situation. He picked up her hand again. “There’s just a lot of pressure on me right now, that’s all. Can you give me another chance?”

To his intense relief, Gemma’s frown softened. “Of course I understand, Your Highness. Shall we start over?”

Despite his best efforts, and having a better time not being the most awkward human in existence, the damage was already done. They danced to three more songs. At the end she kissed his hand with a flourish and promises to visit, but they both knew no such thing would occur.

The songs finished, along with the last dregs of sun, setting on this poor excuse for a day. He found his way to a less densely-populated windowsill and plopped down on it. Juna followed him, and when she reached his side she nuzzled onto his knee.

El sighed. “I’m not cut out for this, Juna.”

Juna looked back at him, her eyes big and soft. The moonlight that was beginning to glint over Dundrasil caught on one of the jewels in her crown. She was true elegance like this, and if it were possible to be jealous of the innermost part of himself, he was.

El looked back at her softly and lay a hand on her furry head. “You’ve got some instinct in there, haven’t you? Can’t you tell me how to be a prince?”

She gave the tiniest shake of her head, and before El could wallow any more, she backed away from him, towards the dressing room where El and Jade began this whole adventure. He realized with a jolt that he hadn’t even thought about the captain for that whole debacle, and that he was waiting.

Juna gave a jump when he got to his feet and she bounded ahead of him, not bothering to make sure he would follow. 

He stepped after her, muttering excuses to everyone who tried to take him aside, and mused on how his life was about to change once he walked into that room.

_“I keep a tight ship, El. We trust each other to have each other’s backs at all times. We have a grand time together, but you have to remember the first rule: no questions.”_

Did he want this? Did he really, truly want this?

He could have answered earlier that day with zero hesitation, but being so near to it — the mere width of a curtain — made him feel foolish and small. Beyond here was a world he could not begin to fathom. But behind him, there was also a world he felt he couldn't begin to fathom, despite nearly twenty years of existence in it. He was paralyzed in it: neither place was his.

Juna hung back at the curtain's edge, asking, for once, for his permission; for once he wished she would just take it.

But he didn't have to wish for long, because just then an arm extended from the darkness, and snatched him by the cloak into the deep beyond.


	4. Flight from Dundrasil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was hella difficult. I’ve never written anything like this before so um. if you enjoy, please let me know down below (re: this chapter but also the story in general). I will be OVER THE MOON <3
> 
> CWs: non-explicit suggestion of serious injury or death (1), intense pain from being touched by your enemy's daemon (2). If you want to skip these, notes about which lines are in the end notes.

The pull backwards into the dressing room felt like the end of the world, but the room was just the same as it had been that afternoon. Cozy, warm from embers in the fireplace, and home to an escaped prisoner holding him by the cloak. Totally normal.

“Well, well. Look who cleans up nice.” 

“Nice to see you too,” El muttered.

If he cleaned up nice, the captain was a wreck; his hair could have nested birds and his face was scratched and dirty. But there was a shrewdness in his gaze, something about the way he considered El, that felt uncomfortable and familiar at the same time.

“You got the window rope ready?” the captain asked.

“Yeah.”

“And the rest of it?”

“In the cabinet,” El breathed. 

The captain grinned. It was an unholy thing, full of promise. For what, he couldn’t say. Could be anything, from his wildest dreams to his worst nightmares; that smile promised everything. El hated himself for loving that about him.

As the captain retrieved the rope, El tried to calm his jittering muscles. It was going to be a little adventure, that’s all. A traipse through the sea, a brief absolution of duties. He could go home at any time.

_Right?_

In an uncomfortable flash, it occurred to him that the last statement might not be something he was prepared to be in denial about. 

“Later… after everything. Are you going to let me go home?”

The captain was silent as he reached El’s side with the rope. El dug his fingernails into his palms. He had been so worried about getting _out_ that he didn’t think about whether he might want to get back _in._ He knew he’d screw everything up eventually, and here it was.

“That depends on if I get what I want,” he replied, easily, as if he didn’t hold El’s fate in his hands. As if El hadn’t given it to him. “Arms behind your back."

He did so grudgingly, tensing up in anticipation. Somewhere behind him, Juna let out a muffled cry.

“We’ll be fine, Juna,” he whispered. Empty reassurances had to count for something. “It’s just —”

A soft hiss interrupted him. He tried to whip around, check Aesgir hadn’t hurt her — but the captain’s hand was on his wrists, warmer than it had any right to be. 

“Relax. She’s safe.”

El snatched his hands away. “You would say that if she was dying.”

The captain raised his arms, saying “see for yourself,” at the same time as El caught sight of their position. Aesgir was curled around her, not touching but surrounding her folded form. His head dipped over hers, and he was making a sound that was less a hiss and more a whisper. Was he _comforting_ her?

El cleared his throat and felt his face heat up. 

“You were saying?” the captain said, in that insufferable smirk of a voice. His arms were at El’s back again, twisting his hands into position. El struggled against the instinct to shrug him off.

“So if you don’t get what you want…” El said, letting his eyes fall closed, “You’ll hold me prisoner?”

There was another pause while the captain lifted El's wrists to draw the first expanse of rope across his skin. “Not in so many words. I won’t lock you up.”

The captain adjusted the loop and then wrapped the rope across El's arms once, twice more. His fingers brushed against El's skin, rough and warm. El drew in a shallow breath. 

“Why not?”

“Who do you take me for? You haven’t done anything wrong, have you?”

He strained against the rope, hating his body for craving more of the slow draw of the captain’s fingertips across his inner wrist as he drew the rope down. “You’re not exactly a paragon of virtue,” El whispered. 

“Yet you’re letting me tie you up.” 

“I take calculated risks,” El said, sidestepping the captain's implication about trust. This was less about trust and more about his increasingly unfortunate tendency to make bad decisions.

And the weight of this bad decision was digging into him with every wrap of the rope around his wrists.

So why was he doing it, if he knew already that it was a bad decision?

Well. If there was anything that this was — it was _his._ Not as a member of the Drasilian royal family, not as the heir apparent to the throne, but as El. And that was worth more than any treasure.

The captain gave a little tug on the rope, drawing him out of his thoughts. “There, I think we're done.”

El flexed his fingers. The tie allowed him some range of movement, but he imagined it would seem convincing enough to onlookers. The nerves rose up in him again. He wasn’t well-practiced in magic yet; would he even be able to use it if the need arose, with his arms like this?

No, that was nonsense — he had no business being nervous. No Drasilians would hurt him, and the captain might threaten, but it would be exceedingly foolish to do so before he got whatever it is he wanted. Then why did he still feel like his heart was about to fly straight out of his chest?

The captain walked around to face El, pulling up his hood as he did so. It drew his face into shadow, with only the bright blue of his eyes peeking out. He unsheathed a silver cutlass from his sash and gave El a boyish grin. “I see you've perfected your ‘scared’ face.”

“Just get on with it.”

The captain nodded, and his face went solemn. In a flash, he was behind El again, grabbing his arm and drawing his blade to El’s throat. His breath hitched and he jerked up on instinct, but the captain’s grip on his arm tethered him in place.

“Don’t move,” the captain said, his voice low. “It’s my head on the line if you hurt yourself.”

El bit down on a dozen retorts and swallowed instead. _This would not be pretty._

The ballroom was just as he had left it minutes ago. Dances and conversations spun on in his absence. There were more people dancing on the further side of the room than loitering near the food, which — thank the gods — would give them some advantage. 

The captain started to edge him along the wall, keeping his cutlass at El’s neck. He took shallow breaths against the bare pressure on his skin, like if he breathed too loudly, the captain would rethink his mercy. His grip on El’s arm was little better than a vice.

Instead of leading them down the main stairway, the captain steered them down the smaller stairway at the edge of the raised platform. It curled around to meet the floor near the windows, where a gaggle of young Gallopolitan girls at the foot of the stairs were pointing and whispering about someone on the dance floor.

El tensed in the captain’s grasp as they toed down the steps, breathless and frozen in fear. 

One of the girls noticed the movement, and suddenly all bets were off.

Her scream was fit to shatter the entire castle. “He’s got the prince!”

Heads turned in ripples, snapping to them first from nearby, then from further and further away. Silence suspended over them for a breathtaking millisecond.

If the girl's scream shattered the castle, the screams that followed could decimate the entire city. Feet scurried around him, trying to take cover. 

Jasper’s command rose up from the other side of the ballroom: “ _Seize him!”_

The captain hurried their pace down the stairs as the crowd of civilians scattered.

Juna ran alongside them, growling at Aesgir as they intercepted each other in a sickening dance. El glanced down desperately, trying to ignore the captain’s blade sharp at his throat. Aesgir snapped at her, hard and unforgiving, but was just missing her skin.

The captain tightened his grip on El and hissed in his ear. “Hold on.”

“Guards! To the front!”

In a swift movement, the captain heaved him onto his shoulder. He took off in a sprint and everything went dizzy. Noises struck his eardrums, but he couldn’t place their origin: the pitter-patter of feet of countless daemons ( _where was Juna?_ ), Aesgir, further away now, lashing out at who knows which poor souls. His whole body vibrated with shocks every time the captain’s feet hit the ground under him. 

He felt like he was going to be sick, but swallowed against it; he was useless for balance without his arms. All he could do was shut his eyes and hope for the best.

Knights came at them seemingly out of nowhere. They were being surrounded. Why hadn’t they reached the windows yet? His throat was glued shut with his heart stuck in it.

The captain's path zigzagged, missing hot singes of flame so close El could taste the smoke on his tongue. Bursts of dark magic bubbled at the captain's feet, but he kept sprinting. More yelps and shouts pelted his awareness, stronger this time from not being able to see. Was one of them _Jade?_

He could feel the cool breath of night ahead of them — the sweet taste of freedom in his mouth — and then the captain fell to his knees.

El crashed to the ground with all the ceremony of Juna leaping headfirst into water. Without free arms to break his fall, he rolled painfully onto his shoulder. Pain seared up from his elbow. There were sounds, but he lost the ability to identify them; something stirred next to him and that was all he knew. 

_It’s all over. Two minutes of not-freedom is all we were destined for._

Another spasm of pain hit him, but this time from his chest.

_Juna?_

He forced his eyes open and immediately regretted it. She was sprawled on the ground next to him, staring at him with big golden eyes, chest rising and falling with her gentle breaths. He didn’t have the strength to reach out to her before another foreign sensation took hold.

Aesgir curled around him, creeping slowly up his body from his feet. El sucked in a horrible breath. The snake hadn’t bitten, had barely even opened its mouth, but the touch overwhelmed him, took all the intact parts of him and snapped them into shards. At the same time, the _sharpness_ of it breathed life into him, the strangest kind of pleasure he had ever felt, like the shine of a blade in the face of lightning. He cried out with the sensation of it, doubled over in pain and confusion and fear and teetered on the edge of sanity.

A voice sliced through it; he swore he heard someone whisper his name.

Aesgir was blinding him, crushing him without leaving a single mark. Beside him, Juna let out a plaintive howl. The earlier pounding of feet reduced to tremors and whispers and little cries.

In the distance of his hazy vision, the captain got to his feet in a labored draw. Jasper stood in front of him ahead of a harried crowd, his arms spread to protect. Behind Jasper, he caught sight of Jade. Her face was twisted in fear and she clutched at Augustine’s feathers.

“Release the prince at once, vermin.”

The captain unsheathed his sword with a swift metal clang. “You make a single move, and Aesgir kills him.”

El stopped breathing. He felt his life suspended in the captain’s hands and it was agony: knowing that he chose this, that he could also never forgive the captain for this. Nowhere did he mention _this_ in their plans. 

Now even the tremors and whispers were silent. He couldn’t look at them, but he felt the question on each of their lips, vibrating as a single organism: _how had this boy managed to bring them to their knees?_

The captain spoke again, low and rough. “I’m in a mood for bartering, aren’t you?”

“What do you want?” Jasper said, his voice full of deepest loathing.

“The staff of Asclepius.”

A high-pitched laugh escaped him. “We don’t have it.”

“Then you’d better get it, haven’t you?” 

As if on cue, Aesgir tightened once more around him. He gasped, but the pain was not as acute this time. Just a constant, spinning, arching ache that held him bound.

The captain spoke a final time, lower still, the promise clear on his tongue. “I’ll be at the Strand in one week’s time. I will expect you there.”

El didn’t dare open his eyes. There was a flutter of movement. He imagined Jasper’s begruding bow. In the stretching silence, he knew the captain had only milliseconds to act, but he was powerless to move. This was no one’s game anymore — he could not doubt that Aesgir would strike to kill at the slightest provocation.

But Aesgir was loosening his grip, slithering off of him. 

There was a single breath’s anticipation of a kiss between two lovers; then the captain pulled him the rest of the way to the window. He kept his eyes closed, unable to look at his sister’s face, or his mother’s, or his father’s. The fear that had so thoroughly ravished his body was instantly replaced by shame: he had no one to blame but himself for this.

The cool breeze tickled his face again, a gentle reminder of what lay beyond this moment. He opened his eyes to survey his kingdom, a town shrouded in darkness except for the light of Yggdrasil high above.

Then he took a deep breath, in concert with his captain, and leapt.

  
  


The silence outside the castle rang in his ears as the captain let him onto his feet. He was dizzy and sluggish, and the ropes behind his back dug uncomfortably into his wrists. The trees around them rose high in the sky, their leaves rustling as they said hello to the moon. He blinked at them as they went in and out of focus.

Something grabbed his arm. “Come on _,_ before they catch up.”

The jolt to his senses broke up some of the fog. The captain was dragging him, walking with a slight limp ahead of him. The pressure on his arm was more than El could bear. He pulled away from the captain’s grasp, willing his legs to move faster. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the faster they got out of here the better.

More sensations returned to him against his will. Something hissed and growled — maybe a stray sabrecat or two, he thought.

But the captain turned back towards him with a glare that threatened to throw daggers. “What is with you? Stop that.

_“What?”_

It was only when he turned that he realized the growling was Juna’s. They were at each other’s throats, Aesgir snapping at her as they had in the ballroom, but this time coming wildly close to her neck. She withdrew and snapped right back, beat for beat. 

Before he could leap between them, Aesgir answered. “She’s being a _whining_ —”

“She hasn’t spoken a _word_ to you!"

“She never does, does she?” the snake replied. Juna and Aesgir glared at each other, only centimeters of space between them. “What’s wrong with her?”

_How dare you? How dare you judge what you don’t understand?_

El rounded on the captain, rage blinding him to fear. “Oh, so I’m not allowed to ask questions, but you can say whatever you want? Is that how it is?”

The captain turned away, and Aesgir began to follow with a snappish twist of his tail. “Look, we’re all a little tense. We need to get going.”

“You can make up your rules, _captain_ ,” he spat out the title, “but you will not terrorize us.”

“Excuse me?” The captain turned back, and this time his glare was directed at El. “I’m doing you a favor —”

“A favor! Is that what happened just now?”

He paused for a moment, and his expression changed into something inscrutable. He stepped back towards El in a slow stride. “Things you want don’t come easy, Your Highness.”

El clenched his hands into fists. How dare he suggest that everything in his life was easy? That Aesgir making him feel like he was being split in two was not real fear? How dare the captain approach this closely, get into his space, like all of him was just there for the taking?

“Say that again,” El demanded. 

The captain pulled him in by the collar of his cloak. He spoke barely above a whisper, but it dripped with threat. “Listen, princey, you may be used to getting what you want. But on my ship, I get what _I_ want. Is that clear?”

They stared at each other. The captain was just a touch shorter than him, but the way the blueness of his eyes burned in the moonlight made El shiver. Feelings were at war in him; he wanted to snap back with the vitriol that had been bubbling up in him since they met, with the terror and rage of fearing for his life and being unable to move his arms. All at the hands of someone who, by all rights, should be punished. By _his_ kingdom. But he also wanted to surge forward, bite that smirk off his parted lips, let him feel something of what El felt.

The only way to win was to step up to the plate.

“I won’t get on your ship, then.”

There was no way the captain would let him march back to the castle. He needed this leveraging power, for whatever nefarious reason with this mysterious staff. And if El was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure that he _didn’t_ want to go. But he had to test this. The seconds felt wild as they both flew past him and inched forward, in the slowest drag imaginable. 

He kept his eyes locked on the captain’s, leaning forward into his space, just barely. Daring him to snap. The curl of his fingers around El’s collar tensed for an exhilarating second. 

Finally, the captain released his hold on El. “Be my guest.” 

El sucked in a breath reflexively. The sudden freedom — physical and mental — was baffling.

“You want me to show you that I won’t hurt you? Go back.” He held out his arm, gesturing back to the castle. “Crawl right back into their arms. I won’t follow.” 

El held his gaze. “You’re bluffing.” 

The challenge flew off the captain’s shoulders; all he did was smirk. “You can decide that for yourself. But do it now, would you?”

With that, he turned on his heel and began the trek to the cliff. Aesgir hung back, his gaze trained on Juna. For all the intensity in it, he may as well have been attacking her.

El turned to her, and her eyes were waiting for him. What was normally clear in her expression was a cloudy fog, and she made no move to jump after the captain. El sighed. Of course now would be the time for everything in his life to turn upside down.

And maybe that’s what he wanted.

A sharp cry echoed off the walls. “There he is! We’ve got him now!”

El froze. Aesgir rose up and hissed in warning, in time for the captain to turn back. Before he could say a word, the captain hoisted him into the air once more. El screwed his eyes shut against the disorientation, and decided that after tonight he never wanted to experience this again.

It was probably better that he could only hear the guards’ chase. Aesgir advanced behind them, hissing his way into their midst. Frantic footsteps scattered. The guards unsheathed their swords left and right and they struck the ground in senseless patterns. Aesgir uttered his own battle cry in return, a high and frightening sound among the clatter of metal and heavy breaths.

The captain readjusted El over his shoulders. The balance was precarious, and he swore he didn’t imagine the captain’s uneven cadence as they raced through the night. His throat was too closed up to ask how much further.

_“I’m not afraid of you!”_

The clamor of armor screeched to a stop in waves. The captain slowed, and El felt his neck twist back to see what was happening. El squeezed his eyes further shut, so hard that sparks of white appeared in the blackness of his vision.

“No!” another voice yelled.

“Aesgir.” The captain’s shout threatened to rupture his eardrums. He cringed even further away from the commotion behind him.

But the warning fell on deaf ears: a high-crested, desperate cry pierced the stillness of night. A smaller one followed, soft and plaintive. Then he heard a heavy weight falling to the ground.

El's heart twisted. He couldn't think about what that meant, not right now. Maybe not ever.

There was only silence then, and a softer drop to the ground — perhaps knees, or a daemon. The captain wasted no more time in the face of tenderness. He took off in a sprint, faster and even more precarious than before. El opened his eyes to trees and rock passing in a blur. Half the group of soldiers still gave chase, with fire in their dark eyes and light glinting off their swords. 

Just as he thought he would throw up from the shocks of the captain’s every footfall, the cliffside finally spiraled into view.

As they reached the cliff face, the captain let El onto his feet. He took exactly one deep breath against a wild, pulsating pain in his forehead before the captain’s cutlass went around his throat. He backed away from it reflexively, trying to put distance between him and the onslaught of weapons, but it only took him further into the captain’s grasp.

“You’ve backed yourself into a corner. Hand over the prince and no one needs to get hurt.”

The captain and the guards stared at each other — six of them, once his protectors. But now, in the space between them on the rock, there was an irreparable divide.

Juna sat beside him, staring at them too; her crown had fallen off somewhere in the scuffle, and the hair on her ears was scruffy and muddy. But she didn’t look scared. He marveled at it: in what world was any part of him still functioning?

His attention snapped back when he felt the captain’s non-sword arm reaching in between them. With a hidden knife, he cut the ropes behind his back — not enough to fall, but enough to regain movement. The captain’s body was pressed almost flush against his. His heart beat wildly in his chest.

“Do you trust me?” the captain whispered against his ear.

“Just do it,” El breathed, as silently as he could manage.

His next words addressed the guards. Despite how long the night had been, his voice was as authoritative as ever. “I don't suppose you have the staff, do you?”

The guard in front scowled. “We’ve already told you —”

“Then I’ve already told _you_. But I’ll say it again.” The captain tightened his arm on El’s behind his back. “The Strand. One week.”

His demand elicited only laughter from more than one of the guards. “If he’s harmed, we won’t be giving you anything.”

The captain stepped away, and the pressure dropped from El’s throat. He pulled off his hood and grinned at them, wide and smug. “Oh, trust me, I know.”

Finally, he turned to El. His smile remained.

“The name's Erik, by the way,” the captain said, lifting him to a bridal carry; and then he tossed El off the cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs:  
> (1) near the end of the chapter: stop at "The clamor of armor screeched to a stop in waves." and skip to "As they reached the cliff face"  
> (2) during scene where they're running through the ballroom: stop at "He forced his eyes open" and skip to "in the distance of his hazy vision"
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!! this was so FLIPPIN DIFFICULT! next chapter is gonna be some snarky times on the pirate ship with the rest of the party :D


	5. Raise or Fold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if I wrote another draft of this chapter there would be more daemon interactions, but I’m sleepy and wanna move on sooo  
> also Veronica’s daemon is a Canadian goose but I don’t think Canada exists in Erdrea so I didn’t name it, fight me
> 
> enjoy the pirate ship shenanigans! <3 I’m thinkin’ drunk sea shanties for next chapter (but don’t quote me on that) 
> 
> oh and y’all who like to memorize canon lines, have fun spotting the ones in here!

When El awoke, he was sure he had died. That’s just what happened to people who got thrown off cliffs. And waking up to this — such a vast expanse of deepest sapphire — that was what happened when the gods had deemed him worthy of eternal rest.

Wait… worthy? Of rest? That couldn’t be right. 

He squinted at the blueness. What had been a single blurry mass slowly opened into two: one light blue above, and a much darker blue below. Something else broke the line between them, but he couldn’t focus enough to make out the shape. His arms and wrists ached, and it hurt to crane his neck. Juna was dozing on his chest, and they swayed softly in … a hammock?

His eyes snapped fully open. _The ship._

“Oh good, you're awake. I was ever so worried.”

“… Huh?”

Someone stood over him, a friendly face framed by golden hair that shone in the sunlight. A small puffin sat on her shoulders, peering curiously at him. The girl smiled. “I’m Serena, the ship healer. It’s so wonderful to meet you.” She tilted her head towards the puffin, who opened his beak in a warm imitation of a smile. “Nayru.”

Seagulls cawed overhead a shimmering stretch of endless waves. Juna bounded off him, recognizing the water at the same moment as him. 

He sucked in a lungful of salty air. “I’m El, and that —”

Juna’s journey to the side of the ship was interrupted by a goose with a black neck and brown tufted feathers, who let out a soft growl and sniffed suspiciously at her. Next to the goose, hardly taller than either of them, stood a girl in a red dress. She wore a scowl and her hands were drawn to her hips as she addressed El. 

“— was Juna,” he finished lamely.

“Oh, we know exactly who you are.”

“That’s my sister, Veronica, and Farore is her goose. Veronica’s the quartermaster,” Serena said. El swore he caught just a hint of an eyeroll. 

“What's a quartermaster?”

“It _means_ , if the captain goes kaput, I’m in charge.” Veronica stalked towards his hammock, and Farore turned his nose up at Juna and followed. “And you better hope that doesn’t happen, because you’re first on my list of people to throw off the boat.”

“Excuse me?” El asked. _Why is a child yelling at me?_ “Aren’t you a little young for —” 

Instead of finishing his question, he wilted under her searing glare.

“The captain told me a certain dunderhead prince came on this ship of his _own accord_ ,” she accused.

“Didn’t feel like my own accord,” El muttered.

Serena was gazing at him thoughtfully. As uncomfortable as it felt, he preferred it to Veronica. “I think perhaps he just needed a break. It’s a lot of pressure being a prince, isn’t it?”

“A _break?_ From being waited on hand and foot?” Veronica pointed a reproachful finger at him. “I bet you've never felt fear or hunger in your puny life!”

Oh hell, and he’d thought the captain was bad. 

“It is a lot of pressure,” he said meekly in Serena’s direction. This wasn’t going quite like he imagined, but then, what had he imagined? Gourmet meals and a four-poster bed? But then he wasn’t worried — he suspected he was only scratching the surface.

She was inching around the hammock now, to Veronica’s side. “Why don’t we give him some space?” she suggested, putting a hand on her shoulder. Veronica stepped back grudgingly.

Serena looked back at him, and he felt a wave of gratitude for her presence. “We thought he’d take longer to come back, and then he showed up with you… luckily Sylvando thought we should keep post from the day he planted himself at the castle.”

“Where is he? He got captured on purpose? _Why?”_

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Veronica said. She was crossing her arms again, from her imposed distance. Her head barely came up over the height of the hammock.

Ugh. The _no questions_ thing was going to be a huge pain in his side. He had hoped that all the secrets were only important to Erik. Wouldn’t stop him from trying, at least.

Serena answered one of his questions, at least. “He’s resting in his quarters. His leg is in rather a state, but he should be fine by tonight.”

Now it was Veronica’s turn to consider him. “How did you escape so fast, anyway?”

“Held me hostage in front of a ballroom full of people and jumped out the window. It worked way better than it should have.”

Veronica laughed so hard that he expected tears to come out of her eyes. When she regained a semblance of her composure, she said, “Of course he would do something like that. Cap has a flair for the dramatic and dangerous.”

Did he? Of course that shouldn’t be surprising. Not with Aesgir as a daemon. El shifted in the hammock, relieving pressure on the ache in his wrists. He wondered idly if they knew Erik’s name — surely they did?

“I didn’t like him at first,” Veronica continued, “but you have to admit he’s got style.”

With the full weight of his faculties recovered, he was bursting with questions. What kind of dangerous things? Why did he land himself in Dundrasil on purpose? Surely if anyone knew about Erik and the staff, it was them. He’d just have to get on Veronica’s good side — if that existed — 

“Oh, daaaarlings!” 

A tall man with slicked-back black hair pranced towards them, a grin adorning his face. He wore a black and red tunic with baubles around the collar, something reminiscent of a circus performer. “Let’s get a move on, the morning isn’t going to move any slower!”

Behind him, prancing in much the same way that Sylvando did, came a peacock with divinely-colored plumage. It squawked a hello, baring juniper and aquamarine feathers among the vivid cobalt blue of its head.

El didn’t know how to process this new presence; Veronica just put her hands back on her hips while Serena tried to hide a smile.

“Ah, the prince is awake! The name’s Sylvando,” he said, bowing down with a coy wink.

“And I am Pan!” declared the peacock. Her feathers reached higher than Sylvando’s head. “We are the keepers of peace and joy aboard the Salty Scallion!”

“The salty… what?”

“I see you’ve met Veronica,” Sylvando continued, heedless to El’s confusion. “Don’t get too fussed about her, she secretly loves everyone.”

 _Not the prince who skips town._ The voice was a little too real in his head, like all of the captain’s warnings in the ballroom.

“I do not,” she protested.

“Especially Captain,” Sylvando said, putting a hand up to her flailing arms. “In another life they were siblings.”

“Give me a break. He’s an insufferable flirt.”

That– that Erik was. El softened to her, despite himself. Who he flirted with and why, though, El didn’t want to know. 

“We set sail for Heliodor today, and you’d all better be done with your chores by the time we arrive,” Sylvando said, grabbing both Serena and Veronica in a side hug. “The ocean beckons, shipmates!” 

♫

El spent the rest of the morning on deck, closing his eyes against the breeze and gentle sway of the ship on the water. Veronica had tried to get him to help with chores, grumbling that it was the least he owed them for not locking him up, but Serena insisted he needed more rest. This small mercy meant more than he knew how to express to her. Where everywhere he turned was unfamiliar, where nowhere on the ship was private, he drank greedily from kindness. 

There wasn’t enough room on the ship to have their own rooms, and they had hammocks for beds. His clothes had been all but destroyed in the scuffle of the night before, so Serena gave him some old, plain civilian clothing. It wasn’t his first choice of accommodations, but it was fine. It just meant he would get to know the crew better. It was all fine. 

Because Nayru kept a watchful eye on him and Juna and screeched if they tried to get up, El busied himself with making plans to foil the captain’s plans. If Erik wouldn’t say why he was after this Staff of Asky-nonsense, El had to assume it was dangerous. Which meant that he had to get to it first. Especially if it was a Drasilian possession.

He’d snoop around a little bit, ask questions, get his hands on it at any cost — and if he still couldn’t face going back to Dundrasil, it would have to be hidden.

When late afternoon came he began to feel restless, and the increasingly choppy waves didn’t help his disorientation. 

He was about to sneak off to explore at least the deck when Sylvando’s peacock came spinning at him. He almost leapt off the hammock to avoid certain death. 

Pan skidded to a stop just before colliding with Juna, who scowled. She apologized with a flippant flash of feathers that turned Juna’s scowl into a glare.

“El, dear, you’ve been invited to game night with the officers this evening.” Sylvando’s delighted shout advanced in front of him before he actually reached El’s side.

“I, um — that’s not necessary, I don’t want to impose. I can get started on that cleaning…”

It was abjectly false — he didn’t how to clean a thing — but he wanted to do it more than he wanted to be teased for his mere existence by this group of zealots.

“Nonsense, we want you there. Come on,” Sylvando sang, grabbing hold of El’s sleeve in an aggressively friendly way.

He let Sylvando pull him towards the lower deck, with his daemon following along closely on his heels. Maybe they weren’t locking him up, but he felt an uncomfortable scrutiny.

When they arrived at the cabin below deck, the first thing he noticed was the atrocious smell. Smoke swirled around the room, tinged with something like oil and rotten fish thrown together. Empty bottles and trash littered the floor. El wrinkled his nose at the sight.

Sylvando didn’t seem to notice and just plopped down next to Veronica and Serena. They talked at each other in a weird lingo that he didn’t understand. He sat on the edge of a creaky wooden chair, dizzy with nausea as they tried to rally him into playing poker. 

They finally let up when he said he would just watch a few rounds at first; happily they didn’t need to try nearly as hard to talk him into a glass of rum.

“Where’s Cap, Sylv?” Serena asked, nursing a glass of her own.

“He’s coming in a minute. Discussing something with Aesgir, I think.”

At the mention of his name, El shivered. He figured it was a good a time as any to ask the question that had been burning at him since he arrived on the ship. Perhaps he should be drinking less alcohol. 

“Are you all not… afraid? Of them?”

Veronica let out a howl of laughter. “Of course not. Just don’t get on his bad side.”

Sylvando and Serena looked distinctly less amused. Veronica paid no mind to them, flicking cards out to each of them in turn. Nayru, who had been resting next to her on the table, raised his head out from under his wing to gaze at El.

“Not scared, no,” Sylvando said as he caught the cards. He had a thoughtful look on his face, but it might have just been because he was considering his hand.

“He’s a good captain. You may have heard… things,” Serena said, raising a hand to stroke Nayru, “but Aesgir has never tried to hurt me.” 

Veronica scowled. “Yeah, that’s what you say. He’s almost impaled me more than a few times.”

“That’s because you’re a piece of work,” said a voice from the doorway. El barely controlled a jump in his seat when he caught sight of Erik. If anyone else thought it was weird that he just _appeared_ without a sound, no one showed it. And if he thought it was weird that they had been clearly talking about him, he didn’t show it either. 

“Nice to see you too, captain.” Veronica slid him a stack of golden coins as he moved to join them at the end of the table. “Just in time to join the first round.”

The captain looked far different than he had in Dundrasil. He wore a long black coat with red and gold trim, open in the front to reveal a blood-red vest and white puffed dress shirt. Aesgir was nestled around his neck, covering elaborate etchings on his golden collar. Erik pulled the coat off in an elegant motion and draped it across his chair before sinking down into it.

He’d clearly had time to clean up; his shirt was pristine and its cuffs curled around his wrists with unexpected grace. A stray blue bang hung casually over his right eye.

To El’s horror, he could not tear his eyes away. Luckily, he retained enough control over his arm to restrain Juna from bounding over to Aesgir.

El ducked his head and pretended to inspect her fur. “Not right now,” he breathed. _Or ever, really._

“How are you feeling?” Serena asked.

Erik smiled, but it was much softer on his face than El was used to. “Much better. Thank you, dear.”

El felt the floor drop out from under him. He raised a hand to his mouth to discourage a cough. _Affectionate_ and _Erik_ did not make sense, like a day without sun or Juna without water. As his head still reeled from it, Erik pulled a cigar from his pocket. He lit the end of it with a match, circling it in his fingers like a holy thing. 

His gaze drew over El. “And you? Still in one piece?”

 _Hardly._ “Me? I’m fine.”

Erik nodded. He raised the cigar to his lips and took a long, slow drag of it, sucking in his cheeks as he did so. El struggled to not cough at the puff of smoke that he exhaled, but at least it was an excuse to squint his eyes closed. Erik was looking at his cards, but El knew that he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. He fumed with the injustice of it.

“You’d better be fine, after being useless all day,” Veronica said, scowling. “Bets, please.” 

He was happy for something to concentrate on. The pattern of plays made a comforting rhythm as it traveled across the room. After Serena, Sylvando and Veronica each placed two coins into the center of the table.

“I don’t know what you were thinking, bringing him on here,” Veronica continued. “Can you imagine the trouble we’ll get into if he dies? Or gets hurt?”

Erik made no move to acknowledge her challenge. With a two-fingered peek at his hand, he tossed four coins onto the table. “He’s not dying on my watch.”

“Sure. You have a great track record.”

El couldn’t stop a reaction this time, and dissolved into a coughing fit. Juna looked up at him reproachfully. “I can fend for myself —” he sputtered.

“My _track record_ isn’t up for discussion,” Erik said, his voice low in a way El was more used to. Erik still didn’t look at him, but he felt the pull of it, like he might look as soon as El didn’t.

Veronica smirked and laid three cards face up on the table. Despite himself, he liked her a little more; anyone who needled Erik and got away with it was his friend. On his other side, Serena and Sylvando shared a glance. He had no idea what it meant.

More bets hit the table, coins and cards changing. The one constant was Erik’s unreadable expression and the slow unfurling of smoke from his lips. “We’ll keep him on the ship when we raid. No one finds him, no problems.” 

El stifled a laugh. He didn’t know Juna.

“And if we’re ambushed?” Serena asked.

“And by Drasilian ships?” Veronica added, placing another set of coins on the table. The pile was getting quite high.

“I should think that —” Sylvando started, but Veronica elbowed him. She shared a glance with Erik that suggested an entire conversation to which El was not privy. He shifted in his seat and wondered how difficult it would be to leave.

“El,” Erik said softly, “Come over here a second, would you?”

His instinct was to challenge, but it didn’t feel like that reaction would be helpful. At the very least, he didn’t have to be friendly about it. As he got to his feet and followed Juna (who was far too happy to be closer to Aesgir), the silence in the room constricted around his lungs.

“What do you want?”

Erik bit his lip; just a subtle flash and it was gone. “Could you get another bottle of rum for us from the storeroom?” He held out the empty bottle, elbows resting on the table. “And this needs to go down there with the others.”

El heavily doubted that they cared that much about organization. His fingers were splayed over too much of the surface of the bottle, like he was daring El to let their fingers brush. His eyes would be unreadable if not for the vulpine smile playing at the edge of his lips.

Well. Veronica didn’t have to be the only one who refused to be played by him.

He leaned down, moving his hand to grip the table instead of taking the bottle. When his lips were near Erik’s ear, he whispered, “Gladly.”

Erik’s small intake of breath and almost imperceptible tilt towards him was all he needed to claim victory. He stepped away and took the bottle from Erik’s hands, taking care to steer clear of his fingers. He didn’t look back to see his face when he turned to leave.

The silence in the room was, for the first time, absolute. What he wouldn’t give to read the minds of the crew as their gazes followed him and Juna to the doorway.

“You’ll join the game when you come back, won’t you?” Sylvando called after him.

He stood in place for a moment after closing the door behind him. Muffled voices floated under it, taunting him. He was tempted to try to make out what they were saying… but they clearly didn’t want him there for it, and surely exploring the rest of the ship was as good a motivator as any. 

Despite his rationalizations, his feet stayed planted. His reward came a few moments later, when the voices raised. They were still hard to piece together, and he was just about to step away when a particularly vicious line cut through:

 _“How do you know he isn’t just trying to get us all captured?”_

That was fair, he supposed. He didn’t trust them either.

He couldn’t hear the captain’s answer.

♫

El slept fitfully that night, scrambling with every turn of the ship. The incessant creaking of wood and Sylvando’s erratic snores didn’t help matters. When he took one of Juna’s claws to the face after a poorly-timed roll away from Sylvando, that was that.

He swung his legs over the side of the hammock, eyes bleary with exhaustion. But as his feet planted on the floor, something in his chest and stomach dislodged. Dizziness and nausea rose over him in a wave, threatening a tirade of regret for what had landed him here. The borrowed pants were too short on his legs, bringing a chill to his ankles. He swallowed hard and urged the feelings away.

Juna nosed up at him, awoken from her slumber as well. El put a hand on her fur. “I think I need some air,” he whispered.

He tiptoed out the crew’s quarters and up the stairs, keeping his hand against the wall for balance.

When he stepped outside, the relief was instant. Moonlight shone down through a cloudless sky, and the sound of the waves lapping against the sides of the ship calmed the knot in his stomach. Even the air itself was solace: cool and friendly against his cheeks. Juna trotted happily to the edge of the ship, reaching up from her hind legs to admire the sea.

“Is it everything you dreamed?” 

El whirled around to find… the person he least wanted to find. He held back a scowl at the captain’s far-too-pretty coat and his smug smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Juna, on the other hand, yelped with happiness and ran to bowl over Aesgir, who was following behind Erik. He hissed at her and reared back in warning.

“What are you doing here?” El shot back, turning again towards the water and leaning his arms against the railing.

“Last time I checked, I live here,” Erik parried from somewhere behind him. A hiss floated past his ears. “Juna just wants to say hello, is that a crime?”

El shut his eyes against the moonlight. He would never admit how it felt to hear him say Juna’s name.

 _Was this everything he dreamed?_ He couldn’t deny that it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. That was about all at the moment — he felt whispers of wrongness under the surface, but chose deliberately to ignore them.

These musings were another thing he would never admit to Erik.

Erik walked up to El’s side, leaning his elbow on the railing but gazing at him instead of the water. It was a comfortable distance, at least. 

“The crew and I were talking earlier, and we thought you should have this.” He drew a sword out from his sash, flashing its curved silver blade. “For if something happens to you when we’re not around.”

El reached out to take the sword, slowly, unsure what to make of their intentions. Were they on his side, or not?

“I realize this is all an adjustment… but if I can help make it more comfortable, let me know.”

He shoved the sword through the belt loop on his borrowed trousers. “Oh, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Erik said softly.

“You don’t have to pretend.”

Erik turned away from him, mirroring El’s posture over the railing. “If we’re stuck together for a while, there’s no sense in fighting, is there?”

He was right, of course, but El’s throat closed up against the idea of letting him know that. 

“That’s a nice idea, but after your stunt yesterday, you’re not getting anything out of me.”

“What are you talking —” Erik started, but then paused abruptly. When he spoke again there was a sigh in his voice, like it wasn’t even close to the first time he’d said it: “This is about Aesgir, isn’t it?” 

El stared stubbornly out at the water.

“Look,” Erik said, placing a hand on El’s shoulder. “Look at Juna.”

He almost certainly didn’t want to see it, but he turned anyway. They were dozing: Juna pressed up against a nearby crate, Aesgir draped over her back. His slight form was rising and falling with the motion of her breathing underneath him.

El turned back away. “Just because Juna trusts him doesn’t mean I should,” he muttered. “I… I was scared for my life in that ballroom.”

Erik laughed then. Like anything about mortal fear was funny. “Aesgir wasn’t actually going to hurt you. We had to improvise when I got hit.”

“Oh yeah? What if someone had tried something?”

A little pause. Then he said, roughly, “People know better than to call Aesgir on a bluff.”

The retort wasn’t comforting; in fact it was arguably not true. El held the memory from last night at bay. He couldn’t let it surface, not if he wanted to ever move on from Dundrasil. 

Sensing El’s mutiny, Erik turned around so his back was to the railing and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let's look at it this way. I am going to act only in my self-interest. Do you agree?”

“Absolutely.”

“And it’s in my self-interest to not harm you.”

El sighed. “Yeah, I agree with that too.”

Erik smirked and turned towards El, his gaze intense and calculating. He took a step forward. “So, Your Highness. What are you afraid of?”

He was right, _again_ , and it lit over El like fire. Not only was he right, but he was trying to twist El’s fear around into something silly, overblown; something that was his fault and not Erik’s. The worst part was that knowing exactly what Erik was doing only needled him further, knowing the uselessness of resistance.

The captain had secrets, ones that he had no way of knowing the depth of. He didn’t like it. He kept flirting, like he _wanted_ something from him but wouldn’t say what it was, like El was something to be collected and then left to gather dust once he stopped being fun to play with.

“If you have nothing to hide,” El said, voice low, “Why do you keep so many secrets?” 

Erik took another step forward. El inhaled sharply by instinct, wanting to back away but also needing to stand his ground. The captain matched El’s voice, nothing but a whisper over the sound of the crashing waves.

“Don’t you have secrets?”

He was standing far, far too close. What he wouldn’t give to pull one over on him, just once; leaning in to kiss him would probably surprise him, but that was what he wanted too, wasn’t it? And that, by definition, meant El didn’t want it. It was one thing to lean in when Erik didn’t expect it, like he had earlier that night, but a kiss… he wanted to share that with someone he liked and trusted. What good was a kiss if not for that?

How could he do this without playing Erik’s game?

“No, I don’t,” he finally said. He hoped Erik didn’t notice the breathiness in his voice. “You can ask me anything you want.”

There was a pause while Erik considered his offer; El considered it too, retroactively. He could do it, tell the truth — if there was anything that might fluster Erik, surely it was honesty and openness.

Erik glanced down at his lips. If he stepped any further in, they would be embracing.

“In Dundrasil. Why do you visit the prisoners?”

El swallowed. “It’s…” _It’s the one place I don’t have to be me._

He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“I like hearing about what it’s like, outside the castle. Sometimes outside of Dundrasil. And a lot of food goes to waste, it’s silly —”

“El,” Erik murmured, “The reason why we don’t ask questions is so we don’t have to waste time telling lies.”

El fell silent. It had been worth the try.

Erik was staring at him, gaze fierce. He could take the last step forward; he allowed himself to imagine it. It would be soft, even sickeningly sweet in its contrast to the resentment between them. But at the same time it would be nothing like what he left behind: bold, dangerous, throwing everything he knew out the window.

Imagine the scandal — the outrage! — if the Drasilians knew he was doing this with the pirate who stole him away. And not just a pirate, but the king of pirates. Not that he played by society's rules anymore, since he ran away in the first place. And _Aesgir!_ Someone who would flay him by the ropes and leave him for dead if not for the one thing pinning them to their own positions: the missing staff. He was little more than a placeholder for what Erik wanted.

It was that, of all, that motivated him when he raised his hand to grip the puffed collar of Erik’s shirt.

“I’ll tell you the truth, then,” El whispered. “If you think you can seduce the Prince of Dundrasil, it’s never going to happen.”

He threw the crew’s sword down at Erik’s feet, and walked away.


	6. Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yee boi shit's starting to go DOWN
> 
> I've learned that I'm very bad at judging just how much stuff will plausibly fit in one chapter so I changed the chapter count back to ?
> 
> I'd guess around 15 ish but I guessed 10 a few weeks ago so that doesn't tell you much.  
> (who's down for endless snakey snake fic cause I am)
> 
> also it's my birthday on Friday and I'm going to a corn maze to celebrate YAY!
> 
> my beta tried to tell me otters don't grin and I rejected his suggestion. pls enjoy Juna grinning (a la Benedict Cumberbatch otters)

El adjusted to ship life by telling himself: _this is how things have always been._

Sylvando and Serena, if they had been suspicious of him before, warmed to him when they observed his uselessness in wielding a broom (and most other objects, really — apparently it was cute), and also discovered his lack of uselessness with a pot, some onions, and a well-stoked fire. Juna provided the entertainment by twirling onion slices on her tail, releasing them into the air, and jumping up to catch them dramatically with her mouth. Sylvando was most impressed by this, often clapping with glee, but Pan just side-eyed her and muttered that she wasn’t _that_ talented.

When they ran out of onions: he had always been hungry.

As El set about each task they gave him, he was peppered with questions about his life as a prince. He avoided them when he could. Thinking about Dundrasil was a recipe for disaster, and not just in the dropped-eggs or burned-bread sort of way. He tried to parry with questions about the ship and Erik, but the conversations were as short as Farore’s temper when Juna got a little too close to his feathers. (“Don’t antagonize them,” El had muttered, but Juna just growled and walked off). The staff was an especially unhelpful topic of discussion; of course Erik had taught them well to protect his secrets. 

But as El’s skills with a broom grew, so did his ability to pry for information — not from the officers, but from the rest of the ship crew. He’d sidle up to them with a comment about cards or girls and a flask of pilfered whiskey, and the rumors came out of them as quickly as the alcohol went in. 

When he got sick from partaking in too much of the whiskey himself: he had always had things to hide.

A Snifleimian boy had a little too much of the whiskey and insisted that the staff was a weapon of mass destruction that felled entire cities, unless you were the _Chosen One._ Then it could be used to save the world. He’d said it with such reverence that Juna stopped twirling onions just to roll her eyes at him, and then they all crashed down on her face. El thought it was well-deserved. 

The captain himself remained a mystery, despite the crew’s rumor mill. He was aloof most of the time, but also often brought people on board to spend the night with in his quarters. When El asked them why he’d want to do that with people he’d never see again, one of them immediately answered that he probably wanted their stuff, but the other had shrugged. _Companionship, I guess._

The discoveries were interesting, but all failures in the end. They brought him no closer to finding out the truth about who Erik was, where or why he wanted the staff, or what horrors Aesgir had invoked on the world. The only solution was becoming clear: he would have to follow Erik into Heliodor.

He had always been relentless in his pursuit of things he wanted.

♫

On the morning of their impending arrival in Heliodor, El didn't have a plan yet. He'd just have to improvise one.

He awoke at dawn to find the sword he’d thrown at Erik on the first night, propped against the wall of the crew’s quarters like it had never left his possession. In a sleepy daze, his heart warmed at the sight. But as dawn bloomed into morning, it seemed less an olive branch and more a pernicious reminder of his stupidity.

That was the first thing he disliked about Erik.

The second was that Erik always knew when he was listening.

Morning on the ship deck brought a chilly wind and a slow descent into fog. Most of the crew gathered on deck for a review of the day’s plans with Erik. El lingered with his sweeping, closer to the captain’s quarters than the crew, but still within earshot.

“Like last time, we’ll take boats into the river from the eastern coast. Two to a boat, more experienced rowers in the stern. When we arrive in town, we’ll remain in groups of two, flanking the sides. Staggered entry. Veronica and Sylv first, through downtown. Serena and I last, through the western passageway.”

The crew stood around him in a circle. Serena nodded somberly, but Veronica tapped her foot and wore an impatient expression. Sylvando was paying half attention to Erik and half out to the hopelessly foggy sea. How anyone saw anything in that oppressive swirl baffled El.

“We’re running low on gold for our next supplies run,” Erik continued. “The goal is to take only what you can carry on your backs and whatever might survive a dangerous journey on the river.”

Having found the dust clinging to every crevice, El busied himself with emptying a barrel half-full of foul-smelling fish. His stomach rumbled. He wasn’t used to being hungry — and certainly never depended on the success of his tasks in order to stop being hungry.

No — he would _not_ think about that. 

“I will be at the castle on personal business. If I do not return by sundown, you’re to leave the way each of you entered and meet with Veronica outside of the city.”

“Aye aye, Captain!”

“And the prince,” Erik said, casting a smirk in his direction, “will come on a boat with Dave, so we can keep an eye on him. But they will stay on shore and wait for everyone to return.”

“Yeah, yeah,” El muttered. Juna kept trying to snatch at the fish he was throwing overboard, but he swatted her away. He wasn’t optimistic that any escape would be possible, but at least they would be back in the river again. That was what was important, right?

A clatter drew his attention away from Erik’s words.

Juna stood on her hind legs, front paws over the railing of the ship. She gazed out into the fog, then back at El; a slow draw that suggested something meaningful.

He joined her at her side. “What are you saying, exactly?” 

Juna closed her eyes and raised her nose to inhale the damp, impenetrable air. Then she growled, snapping sharp canines and shaking her head. She turned a shining eye back to the crew, but did not move her head.

“Think I should use the fog, huh?” El murmured.

Juna flashed him a grin, just as Sylvando shouted gleefully: _“Land, ho!”_

And then they had a plan.

♫

The crew spread over the river in four small, cramped canoes. Dave and El’s boat floated a fair bit behind everyone else’s, as if he was afraid El was going to attack the other boats. Well, that was all the better for him and Juna. Against the thick of the fog, Veronica and Sylvando’s boat was barely a shadow ahead of them.

Dave was a terrifying bloke at first, with the largest muscles El had ever seen and a horned pink mask covering his entire face, but his true nature was soft. His daemon was a tiny mouse that liked to nap on his shoulders, for Yggdrasil’s sake. This, too, was all the better for them. El smiled at himself.

“‘Ere El, I reckon it’s no fair the ‘ol cap’n won’t ‘ave you in Heliodor, ‘eh? Wouldn’ hurt to ‘ave a look around, if it was up t’ me!”

El quite agreed, but no way was it going to be that easy. He wiggled his fingers behind him (of course they were tied, again), and Juna nuzzled at his hands from her place nestled at his back.

“It’s funner to hear your stories,” El said conversationally. “Then I don’t have to get in trouble myself.”

“Cor! You’re a clever ‘un, you are!”

El resisted a giggle. “What’s the biggest loot you’ve ever found, Dave?”

“‘Ere, let me fink… it must ‘ave been back in cap’n’s early days. Gondolia. Gondolia, eh! Bunch of bleedin’ fools, them. We ‘ad —”

El listened long enough to tell how proud he was of the job, and on cue, Juna scrambled up onto the rim of the canoe. It was awkward, with her paws tied, but she could maneuver herself well enough to come up to El’s side. Her head was raised up, staring straight into the fog.

“Ey, take it easy! We don’t want no falling out the boat ‘ere.”

“I think she sees something up ahead. Maybe we’re near the shore already?”

Dave just grumbled and kept on rambling about Gondolia. El muttered sounds of approval and asked more questions, digging for detail about how clever they had all been to fool Doge Rotondo. He was happy to regale El with details. Juna plopped sideways into his lap, out of view of Dave, and began to bite through the ropes restraining his wrists.

“An’ that’s when we ‘ad a clear path to all the treasure the lads wanted their whole bleedin’ lives! I’m talkin’ piles an’ piles, ‘yer Highness, an’ —”

When Juna had cut through enough of the rope for El to regain movement, he reached to untie Juna’s binds, quickly and silently. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck; their time was running short.

“— ‘old on a minute, are you just tryin’ to —”

_“Now!”_

At the command, both he and Juna tipped over the left side of the boat, capsizing it. Dave’s shout was swallowed by his sudden plunge into the water.

The heavy fog prevented view of the rest of the boats, but El paddled furiously in the direction they had been traveling. They made headway over Dave quickly, who spent precious seconds flailing in the water trying to sort out what had happened.

El kept his eyes peeled for the other boats, but it looked like they really had been close to the shore; when they reached it each of the boats had been docked in the sand. He tumbled in the direction of some tree cover nearby and took stock of the surroundings, panting heavily.

Through the white haze, he managed to spot the last pair of pirates climbing onto a horse. His already abused lungs stuttered for breath. He didn’t have a way to summon a horse, and finding one would be a tall task.

Fueled by a lack of better ideas and the need to get away from shore, he and Juna blindly tore upwards through the countryside. _What can we do, what can we do —_

As they traveled upwards, the haze began to clear. He scanned the vast countryside, back and forth, desperate for a solution.

Then he spotted the jackpot: a pair of skullriders cavorting around a fire.

They went down with an effortless slash of the sword and a well-placed lash of Juna’s teeth. He murmured an apology to the second skullrider as it went scurrying away, and climbed onto the first.

And then they were off: the wind cooling his damp clothes, brushing sweaty hair out of his face, granting his pounding heart a respite. As they continued to ascend the hill towards the city, drizzly gray rainclouds slowly replaced the fog. He spotted two of the crew approaching Heliodor from the front; another two remained behind, skirting slowly around the stone walls on the western side.

_Erik._

El steered them to follow. His hands were barely cooperating with the rest of his body. If they survived this without him having a heart attack, he had to have done _something_ wrong.

By the time they had caught up to the city walls, Erik and Serena had disappeared into the western passageway. El dismissed the skullrider and they headed in to their doom.

♫

Running through Heliodor as an anonymous boy on a mission instead of the Prince of Dundrasil felt exhilarating. The cold nipped at his cheeks and stray raindrops pattered on his head in a silent dance. He followed behind Erik at a distance, winding between houses and alleyways and hiding behind bins when Erik paused.

Just when they had climbed the ladder to someone’s roof and El thought, surely, that this was all a bad joke, he peered over the edge and spotted Erik tiptoeing across a rope. It connected uptown with the royal district: courtyards and fountains surrounding Heliodor castle. Surely he wasn’t going _into_ the castle? 

Maybe it was time to abort mission. Waltzing into Heliodor castle unannounced (or falling off a rope into the middle of town) couldn’t be good for El either.

But he’d spent a bit too long hesitating — by the time he snapped back to his surroundings, Erik was halfway through the courtyard on the other side. He muttered a curse and scrambled onto the roof while Juna jumped up from a stack of crates leaning against the side of the house. She bounded ahead of him, taking the rope like it was the easiest thing in the world; it barely moved under her weight. At the end, she turned back at him and grinned.

El took a deep breath and followed.

They sprinted through the courtyard and an ornate wrought-iron gate before El spotted Erik again: approaching the steps up to a brick mansion that formed part of an inner circle of homes at the castle’s doorstep. He ducked behind a row of hedges and followed them to the side of the house, where he couldn’t be seen.

Nestled into a flowerbed, Juna by his side, he inched forward against the side of the house. He couldn’t see Erik, but could hear the insistent rapping on the front door.

El briefly debated the merits of scrambling into one of the open windows on the side of the house. It may have been a generally frowned-upon practice to enter a home without permission, but if you weren’t sure if your target wanted to obtain something for… “mass destruction,” for lack of better term, then that was okay, right?

Just then, the door opened with an enthusiastic bang against the brick.

The silence that followed was a disconcerting contrast.

“Derk. It’s good to see you’re… well.”

The voice that answered was higher than Erik’s, and rough with an accent that El had been used to associating with lower-class people; another confusing mismatch. “What are you doin’ ’ere?”

“I just want to talk. I —” Erik paused, and El pressed closer against the wall, straining to hear him. “I deserve everything you have to say to me.”

His tone sent ice through El’s veins and forced his throat into a swallow. He had known Erik for only a few days, but hearing him speak so… _humbly_ to someone was gripping and baffling in equal measure.

Footsteps echoed on the wood, and the front door latched closed. He inched around the wall, still crouched in the flowers. It was risky to come this close, but he needed a better vantage point. The voice that followed was deeper now, clearly not nearly as touched as El was by Erik’s display.

“I don’t want you or Aesgir near my wife. If you got somethin’ to say, you’ll say it out ’ere.” 

“Sorry? Your wife?”

“Yeah, Erik. Crazy, there’s life after bein’ a pirate.”

 _Pirates._ Of course that’s what their connection was — but how had Derk ended up consorting with Heliodor’s finest? 

Erik still hadn’t responded. El tilted his head up uselessly, as if that would help him see Erik’s face.

“Look, I — I’m sorry for what happened. I really am —”

Had _Aesgir_ hurt Derk? Was this his mysterious track record? He knew there had to be something — there couldn’t be this many layers of secrets without deep pain in the middle.

An unfamiliar voice cut in, an even less friendly one than Derk’s. “You’re not here to apologize. You want something.”

Erik didn’t answer right away, and it occurred to him with a jolt that he must be missing parts of the conversation. He stepped further towards the porch, protected from sight by the wall but heart still thumping in his chest as if he were in plain sight. The voices were muted — of course they’d discuss what Erik wanted in lower tones, but it was the exact information El wanted. He tried to think on his feet. Was there any way Juna could get up there without being seen?

As he approached the wall that formed the side of the porch, now just below the men and their daemons, a roar of laughter struck down from above. Juna jumped back and scowled. El gave her a withering glare.

“ _That_ thing? For ’er? You know it won’t work unless you —”

“I don’t care,” Erik shot back. It was only three words but his voice held so many things: frustration, desperation, a touch of insolence that El recognized all too well in himself.

It was Derk’s turn to be silent.

“Please,” Erik whispered, barely at the edge of El’s ability to hear it, even at this closer distance. “Please help me, bee.” He paused again, and then his voice was softer than he had ever heard it. “You didn’t deserve what I did to you.”

There was a shuffle of feet above him. Whether it was a step forward or back, he couldn’t tell. 

“I don’t believe your grovelin’ for a second, Erik.”

Before he responded, the door squeaked open again, followed by a high-pitched voice. “Derk? Is everything alright?” More footsteps. “Who’s this?”

“No one, honey,” Derk answered. “Everythin’s fine.” El couldn’t hear her response, but didn’t need to; the tense pause and the clicking of paws told him what he needed to know. 

Finally, the door clicked closed.

“Listen, pal, I’ll tell you what I know. In exchange,” Derk said, the clack of boots on wood a threat of their own, “you never come ’ere again.”

“Fine.” Erik’s answer was so clipped El couldn’t extract any emotion from it.

Derk’s voice lowered. “There was a sale of it in Dundrasil, underground, about a week ago.” So it _had_ been in Dundrasil — if Erik responded, he couldn’t hear it. He shared a look with Juna.

“There’s rumors of a bronze-eyed merchant in Gondolia. Knows people, knows the trade of ancient legends. If anyone knows where it is now, it’s ’im.”

“Derk. Thank you.”

His response was a huff and the click of the door opening once more. “I’m not doin’ this for _you._ ”

El didn’t have time to contemplate the meaning of this; he recognized it as a dismissal at the exact moment he heard Aesgir start to slither towards them. Juna leapt back, following their original trail through the flowerbeds, and El followed in a heart-pounding haze. Back against the side of the house, El leaned over, lungs burning in his throat with the adrenaline of the conversation he had just witnessed. 

Juna glanced back at him, as if to say _there’s no time to think about it now._ El nodded. He straightened up and smoothed his shirt down, and when they heard footsteps retreating from the house, they followed in hot pursuit.

Instead of heading back through the courtyard, Erik and Aesgir jogged directly past the guards and down the main steps into uptown. Then, instead of continuing the way they came, they took a sharp left onto a cobblestoned street. 

El’s heart dropped with their turn. If they were going to do something else, should he return to the boats and wait? Should he follow, in case there was more to learn? Probably the former — his head was full enough — but he wasn’t very familiar with the Heliodor region, and if he got lost on the way back… disasters untold would be waiting for him.

So he ran. Juna grumbled behind him in time for him to dodge a lady towing a cart of fruit behind her. He mumbled an apology and dashed behind a barrel just in time for Erik to turn around.

“What is it?” Aesgir hissed.

Erik cast his gaze about the empty street, his face blazing. El leaned hard against the barrel. His breaths stuttered in his chest, begging for relief but finding none. Juna’s slim form matched his.

“Nothing,” he heard Erik mutter, and footsteps retreated once more.

El got to his knees and peered at them from behind the barrel. He steeped himself to focus. If they were caught at this, there was no way Erik would have any mercy on him.

When they were far enough ahead, El resumed chase down the street. Erik’s words bounced around in his head with every footfall. _You didn’t deserve what I did to you._ Had he meant that? Or had he been playing it up so he could get what he wanted? That’s what pirates had to do to be successful, and for all he knew Derk was just a means to an end. Whatever that end was.

Ahead of him, Erik and Aesgir reached a set of stone steps that descended into the sketchy part of Heliodor: downtown. El knew there was a dark, narrow tunnel that led into it, so he stopped by the gate at the top of the stairs.

“We’ll have to let them go through, or they’ll hear us,” he muttered to Juna, leaning against the gate to catch his breath. “We can find them on the other side.”

Juna nodded, her gaze resolute, and he felt a burst of affection for her. They had been more snippy with each other than usual for the past couple of days, which he regretted. It's true, he had been denying a lot of feelings that Juna was trying to nudge him towards, but that was just for his own safety. She couldn't blame him for trying to protect himself.

When they could no longer see Erik through to the other side, they plunged into the darkness too.

On the other side, the main street bustled with activity. Merchants yelled out pleas to buy their wares, dogs yelped and barked, and children ran amok under their parents’ feet. El scanned the street up and down as they walked among the chaos, even checking the ladders and planks above them for evidence of Erik or Aesgir. They were nowhere to be found.

He caught sight of someone dancing on one of the planks that connected the roof of one shop to another and barely held back a gasp. 

El didn’t have much more time to think about it before he collided head-first with a frighteningly solid object.

The worst part was that it was warm and _alive._

“Oh gods, I’m so sorry — I’m sorry —”

There was a steadying arm on his shoulder, and a hazy picture of a man came into focus. Donned in orange robes and a golden monocle, he gazed intensely at El as if he were a foreign specimen. “You’re fine, my dear boy. I daresay...”

He paused. His daemon, a raven, sniffed suspiciously at Juna, making a dignified caw. 

“One moment, do I know you?”

El cleared his throat and tried to hide his terror. “Who, me? No, I’m just —”

“Are you sure? I swear I could —”

Before the man could finish his sentence, another object came barreling into him — not El this time, but the stranger. He recognized it was _Erik_ in time to see him grab the stranger in a headlock and shove him to the ground with a grunt. A few heads turned toward them, but before El could speak or move, Erik seized him and dragged him through the open door of an empty hut across the street.

Erik shoved him against the wall of the hut. His back hit the wall with a thud and the last puff of air was knocked from his lungs. 

“You had better have an extremely good reason to be here, or your life is over,” Erik hissed.

As much as he wanted to come up with one, El was dismayed to find that words had gotten onto a boat and sailed off without him. He took the shallowest breaths he could manage under the weight of Erik’s blue eyes on him, pupils blown with rage. Aesgir was settled around his collar, neck stretched out towards El in a menacing arc, no doubt poised to attack for the slightest provocation.

“Do you have _any_ idea what could have happened if you were recognized?”

“No,” he finally managed to choke out in a raspy whisper. He suspected that being found would have left Erik worse off than himself, but now wasn’t the time to point that out. It was also distinctly not the time to think about the closeness of his body: their hips pressed together, his hand burning at El’s chest, his eyes blindingly reminiscent of the sea.

Erik stared at him for a heart-wrenching moment, as if he could hear El’s thoughts. His tightly-wound fingers on El’s shirt dug straight into his skin. 

“This is why I don’t like people like you,” Erik whispered. He let go of El and turned away, pressing a hand on his forehead. Aesgir slithered off his shoulders, surely to terrorize Juna. “This is exactly why —”

Erik suddenly stopped. With the force of a gust of wind in a storm, he whipped back around. “Did you follow me to Derk?”

He hadn’t yelled then, and El wished he would. El swallowed and nodded, too paralyzed to defend or mollify, too horrified that part of him missed Erik’s warmth.

“What, _exactly_ ,” Erik snarled, unsheathing his sword, “made you think it was okay to snoop in the captain’s private business?”

El grit his teeth and closed his eyes. Aesgir hadn’t returned to Erik’s side, but he felt both pairs of eyes on him, pressing down on him in the dark. Erik was right; he shouldn’t have done any of this.

“Please don’t kill me,” he whispered. His heart pounded against the boundaries of his chest like a volcano about to erupt.

Erik’s reply was cold and equally as quiet. “Name a single reason I shouldn’t.”

His gaze flickered to the far corner where Aesgir had moved. He was curled against the wall, wound more tightly than usual, his eyes dark. Juna leaned down, extending her head towards him from a distance.

“The staff,” El breathed.

It was a risk, but his best option. Did Erik want the staff more than he wanted to satiate his fury? He could still find the thing without trading El for it, but surely not making himself a target of the entirety of Dundrasil was a plus.

El had squeezed his eyes closed again. He thought something would happen, but nothing did except a deep intake of breath. When he opened his eyes, Erik had lowered his sword, but the look in his eyes was murderous.

“I see what you’ve done with your freedom. After tonight we’ll lock you in the brig. I doubt the crew will disagree.”

He couldn't think of anything worse. Trading feeling trapped in Dundrasil for being literally trapped in a pirate ship? Maybe his bad decisions were finally catching up with him, maybe none of this should ever have happened. His head spun in a rising panic. 

But now was _not_ the time.

“Alright,” he finally whispered.

El looked again at Aesgir, despite himself. He had somehow curled up further into the corner, looking _vulnerable;_ but Juna hadn’t advanced. They just stared at each other, wordlessly, with only a whisper of something passing between them.

Erik’s eyes drew towards them as well, but only briefly before his gaze burned into El once more. 

“I need to pick up one more thing before we leave. Wait for me here.” Erik took a step forward and pressed the tip of his sword to El’s chin. He didn’t dare breathe. “If you take a _single step_ , El, I will kill you and take down all of Dundrasil with it.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.


	7. May I Have This Dance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow so this chapter gave me a lot of grief. in typical fav-fare, I meant it to be at least partially fluffy and it turned into angst lmao.
> 
> I also feel now is a good time to mention that this entire thing is essentially a first draft and I really don’t know what I’m doing. if I’m doing something right, it’s 100% by instinct (or maybe latent knowledge from reading a ton of books on writing when I was like 10 lol).
> 
> THAT BEING SAID, buckle in for a journey with this one <3 
> 
> first scene feat. Veronica’s smoking hands when she’s angry. stolen shamelessly from princesscas (go read her fics now if you haven’t!). also angry Canadian geese we love them (just don’t cross them irl)

When Erik returned, they left Heliodor in silence. 

He followed Erik at a sprint. Aesgir perched at attention around Erik’s collar, staring at them with a hooded, dark expression. Juna ran alongside El as the markets passed by in a blur, her gaze anywhere but on Aesgir.

El’s thoughts whirled helplessly. He wanted desperately to apologize, but there was no way Erik would appreciate it just now. It was just… the way he’d _sounded_ when he’d apologized to Derk: soft, defeated. El couldn’t dismiss it from his mind. And he hated that he couldn’t dismiss it — how weird should it be that Erik could love, could hurt people he loved, just like anyone else? Not weird at all. But still he ruminated over it, the thoughts rooted into his psyche with all the hopelessness of being stuck in quicksand.

Outside Heliodor, Erik called two horses. It didn’t escape him that when they had entered, the crew had ridden in on pairs. Then they were galloping off, without making sure El and Juna had settled. El swallowed all the apologies in his throat.

Upon reaching the river, they found the full crew entrenched in a panic. Serena knelt by Dave’s side, rubbing his back and murmuring comfort. He heard snippets of Dave’s replies, something about being unable to track any of them down. Veronica stalked the grass near them, her hands fisted and smoking slightly; Farore honked in the water behind her.

“Wait ‘til I get my hands on him! He can’t charm me with stew!”

On lookout, Sylvando and Pan spotted them first. “Oh, darlings, you’re safe!” 

El felt a drop of warmth in his chest. At least _one_ of them was relieved. The warmth didn’t last very long before they were bombarded with a faceful of Veronica.

“Captain,” she said curtly as she approached Erik jumping off his horse. It was somehow a demand for information and a statement of disapproval, wrapped in a convenient two-syllable package.

Erik dipped his head in a bow. “We need to be heading back. Debrief on the ship.”

Veronica rounded on El. She knew Erik had heard her question and refused to answer it. That wasn’t his fault. (It was, really, but thinking that way wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Not with Juna nudging his knee every five seconds —) 

“If you think you’re getting away with this, El!”

Erik raised his arm in front of El, his voice clipped. _“Leave it.”_

To his horror, El felt heat rise on his cheeks. Was he being _protective?_ What business did Erik have being like this when he had been about to kill him moments ago? He didn’t understand it — didn’t understand any of this, for that matter — but some part of his body clearly did. 

A surprised expression crossed Veronica’s face, but she didn’t argue. With another glare at El, she turned to rally the crew for departure. The others didn’t look back at him either, but that suited him just fine. The fewer eyes on him and his questionable decisions, the better. He raised his arm unthinkingly to Erik, who was the only one who remained.

“Erik, I —” He stopped abruptly, realizing he had no idea what he meant to say. 

“Don’t,” Erik said, turning away. “She’s right, you won’t get away with this. Not here.”

The dig at his actions in Dundrasil burned at his throat. Erik was already unmooring his boat by the time he cobbled together a shaky defense. He didn’t even want to use it, or to think about it, but his stockade was crumbling.

He froze when he caught sight of Dave, who was already paddling away with Serena in tow. Veronica and Sylvando were settled into another boat, locked in a heated discussion. He looked desperately around for remaining crew, but everyone was already in the water.

“You’re with me, princey. Good luck pulling something on me.”

El swallowed. _Good luck, indeed._

♫

When they returned to the ship, the officers wasted no time in slamming the door on him to discuss what happened. And, well, El had no problem with that. They had escaped with a good deal of gold, enough to purchase abundant supplies for the next port town — Gondolia, he suspected — and so the rest of the crew set about behind him, preparing for a grand celebration. 

He leaned over the railing of the deck, his face buried in his hands. There were no stars to gaze at, and Juna was brooding at his feet, curled up and facing away from the water. Behind him, trumpets sent peals of joy sailing into his right ear and out the other. The rhythmic tapping of boots on wood followed it, showing no signs of stopping despite the ship rocking with the motion from the upcoming storm. The familiar rocking sensation in his gut answered, but there was nothing in it to throw up. If he turned his face up enough and closed his eyes, he could feel the trickle of a raindrop or two on his cheeks.

A lot of competing thoughts joined a chorus in his brain, but the one that sang the loudest was exhaustion. He expected, at any moment, for one of the crew to come drag him below deck to his dusty fate. It would be the first time he’d ever been imprisoned, and he was a hair’s breadth away from accepting he deserved it. Apologizing to Dave and Erik hadn't been enough.

But another feeling sang in dissonance, preventing him from accepting the inevitable. It nagged at him, nameless. He’d thought at first that there was no way Erik wasn’t just swindling Derk into getting what he wanted, yet something about it felt wrong. Why hadn’t Aesgir been angry, too, when he’d been found downtown? 

“El, darling!” Sylvando's voice cut through his thoughts, not unpleasantly. “Come dance with us.”

Those were not the words he expected to come out of Sylvando’s mouth. He swallowed hard, didn’t dare turn to face him. “You’re not…?”

Sylvando grinned. Behind him, Pan sniffed at Juna, unrelenting even as she looked away. “Veronica wanted to lock you up tonight, but I insisted you should have one more night. So really, you’d be making me look bad if you spent the whole evening moping.”

El felt warmth rise in his chest, a welcome contrast to the coolness of the night. As much as he wanted to express gratitude for Sylvando’s concession, the only thing he could force his throat to croak was: “Why?”

“You're not the only one who’s run away from a life you didn't want.”

He glanced sharply at Sylvando, but he was looking away, out to sea. “Sorry?”

Sylvando pretended to be searching for something among the gray, roiling rainclouds, his hand pressed to his forehead in a caricature of a salute. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

El heaved a sigh. There was little bother in pressing for details. He sank to the floor of the ship, his legs splayed in front of him and back pressed against the rail. Juna backed up towards him, growling quietly as Pan advanced towards her.

“You didn’t abandon an entire kingdom, did you?”

“No,” Sylvando said, smiling down at him, “but I think that the bigger our failures, the more we can learn. And you, my darling, will be Dundrasil’s finest teacher.”

El did a poor job of preventing a snort. “If that was supposed to be a compliment —”

“It wasn’t,” he assured cheerily.

As Sylvando sat down next to him, mirroring El’s position against the railing, he watched Pan dip her head towards the ground. Juna had stopped growling and merely stared at her, expression guarded. Sylvando had said _it wasn’t_ like he meant the dig about how much of a failure he was, but there was also something else in it, an implicit lack of blame. El didn’t know what to do with it: a gift shoved into the hands of a boy who’d stolen.

“You’re a lot like Erik, you know.”

El tilted his head back against the rail and looked up at the clouds. “Yggdrasil help me.”

His smile was beginning to be infuriating — uncomfortably like Erik’s. “That’s not as bad as you think. He’s funny, bold. Doesn’t take no for an answer. That’s how he ended up here. The world tried to tell him no, and he said _fuck you._ ”

El didn’t know which was worse: that he was _like_ someone he felt so many… feelings about, or that the world hadn’t told him no, and he’d said _fuck you_ anyway. He gave Sylvando a non-committal shrug.

“And he’s lonely. People think he’s scary, but he’s actually a huge softie. He just wants love like the rest of us.”

El coughed. This conversation was beginning to feel prickly, and not in a good way. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

In answer, Sylvando only smiled cryptically. He produced a quintuplet of juggling balls from his pocket and chucked them into the air, one at a time. As he juggled, his gaze drew towards Pan and Juna; the latter had seemed to decide Pan was alright and sat up on her hind legs to nose at the peacock.

“You think he wants —” El spluttered. This was abject insanity. “He wants to _murder_ me!”

“That's not the only thing he wants.”

El gaped at him. “You have got to be joking.” 

But he didn’t answer, just leaned back against the railing too, tossing and catching the rainbow-colored balls in a maddening rhythm.

How could he be so casual about this proclamation! And Juna looked fit to pounce on Pan’s back and let her carry her around!

“What is it about _me_ that makes you think —”

“You stand up for yourself, you challenge him, part of you wants to see what’s valuable in him. And he’s not used to that.”

“He’s putting me up because I'm a prince and he wants power that I have,” El snapped, looking away from them. He knew Sylvando must respect the captain, and that honesty may not be the best policy here, but the idea that El was anything other than a conquest to him was absurd.

“Maybe,” Sylvando admitted, slapping away Juna’s leap to intercept one of the balls. “But I think that he could really trust you, in a way that he hasn't trusted anyone. Not since what happened with his sister.”

“Not since _what?”_

Sylvando finally deigned to look at him, just in time for Veronica to stalk over, her red hat flapping in the swirling wind.

He expected a tirade, but she only glared at El for a second before directing a sigh at Sylvando. “He won’t talk to me, Sylv. Can’t we do anything?”

Sylvando glanced meaningfully at El, but he chose not to interpret it. Their drama clearly ran deep, and this wasn’t the night for that.

“Let him have some time,” Sylvando said. His eyes twinkled as Pan, now carrying Juna, frolicked towards the rest of the dancers. “It’s been a long day.”

El scrambled to follow them, desperate for any excuse to escape their clutches, but he came face to face with Farore, all ruffled feathers and sharp beak. “Not so fast, mister. You have some talking to do.”

“Sorry, I —”

Veronica stepped up next to Farore, her hands planted on her hips. “I may have been convinced to let you off for the night, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. My condition is that you apologize to both Dave and Erik. Now _._ ”

“I already have,” he said quietly.

Veronica stepped up close to him, standing on her toes to meet El’s eyes. She just held them for a moment, like she was trying to figure if El was lying just from the color of his eyes. “You better have.”

She returned her heels to the ground and seemed about to step away, but then she spoke again. “The captain has secrets for a reason.” 

She said it softly, like she, too, was trying to convince herself of it.

The answer he’d been looking for all day hit him with a jolt. When Erik had raised his arm in front of El and Veronica, when Aesgir had curled in upon himself — that hadn’t been protectiveness. It was shame.

_Don’t find out from him what he witnessed._

But why? And what could Erik have to hide from the person who was supposed to be his most trusted crew member? 

At this point, it was looking like he would never know.

♫

After the confrontation with Veronica, Sylvando piped him with rum, and he couldn’t complain. He suspected it was a ruse to get him to make a fool of himself — and he certainly was, two drinks in and empty stomach rumbling. He let Sylvando teach him some sea shanty dance moves, since they were very different from what he knew from Dundrasil, and Serena coaxed Juna into singing along with the music, which everyone promptly regretted.

It was almost like that morning had never happened.

The sky had started to drizzle, asking to partake in the festivities, when El caught sight of Erik.

He stood away from the rest of the crew, leaning against the railing of the deck. Aesgir slithered down Erik’s arm, pinning the hunter-green sleeves of his tunic against his skin in a winding sigil. He held out his arm for Aesgir to continue his path along it, ending coiled around his fingers, laying his rough-scaled head down against Erik’s thumb.

El felt his breath catch involuntarily at the sight. It was something like both fear and admiration, twined with the sweet warmth of alcohol, rising on his cheeks and sinking in his stomach. What a place the captain ran, and the affection they all clearly had for him, despite his emotional distance — it somehow managed to make him more alluring. Did he ever feel like he didn’t belong there? Like this authority that he commanded was all a masquerade, serving for nothing but to suffuse him with shame?

Surely not. He could think of nothing worse.

The music around him dulled in his ears as he took another swig of rum. It tingled on his lips and coated him in warmth, protecting him from the vicious chill and spattering of raindrops dripping down his shoulders. He was vaguely aware of Juna looking up curiously at him, but all he could see was Erik.

There was no way it was alright to be thinking these things about Erik, but fuck it all, he was doing it anyway. If this was his last night of freedom, he might as well indulge.

Then his feet were following his brain, and what had previously been half a ship’s length between him and Erik turned mysteriously into an arm’s length.

“Captain,” he found himself saying, his mouth fueled by little more than false confidence. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

Erik didn’t turn, only inclined his head in acknowledgment. Aesgir curled around the back of Erik’s neck, his head standing taut in an acute glare. “I would be very careful of what you say next,” the snake whispered. 

El cleared his throat and leaned up against the railing, leaving plenty of space between him and Aesgir. “I wanted to say I’m sorry again for following you earlier today. I– it was —” _Foolish? Selfish? But maybe a little enlightening?_

He couldn’t do much beyond trail off from this brilliant admission. Of course his big mouth hadn’t thought about what to say once he actually had Erik’s attention. Even as Erik stared out into the sea, Aesgir’s eyes were fixed on El, boring into a boundless depth. He stifled the desire to step back, to look away. Juna hung behind him, peering around his legs.

“It’s okay,” Erik said. “You shouldn’t trust me.” 

El swallowed hard. “You’re not… you’re not mad?” 

Erik turned to him then, just enough to catch a glimpse of his eyes, nothing more than black jewels in the night. His expression was flat. “No. You did exactly what I would have done.”

El stared back at them, clinging on to the railing like it could offer security, seeking some semblance of openness beyond the impenetrable fog in both him and Aesgir. He found none. He couldn’t fathom how so much had changed between leaving Heliodor and where they were now.

“But I —” he cleared his throat. How could he say _well, you should be angry_ without sounding like an ass?

“El,” Erik said softly, turning back towards the water. “It’s not you I’m mad at.” 

Aesgir hissed at them, warning them to stay away.

He didn’t fight the instinct to step back this time. Erik was usually confusing, but these were unprecedented heights. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t flirting, he wasn’t hiding behind anything for once — and still El couldn’t understand. The cherry on top was the small, niggling feeling in chest that he _wanted_ to understand. To see Erik feel better, to see him flirt again, even though another (larger) part of him never wanted to see that again. But he had no idea how to do it. 

And besides, this was all the alcohol talking. He didn’t actually feel any of that.

Juna inched out from behind him, slowly at first, and then with an abandon he envied. She leapt up onto the railing and crawled forward, near Erik’s arms. Aesgir recoiled and twisted onto Erik’s other shoulder, regarding her suspiciously.

El was about to call her out, but something held his tongue. This night was already an absolute mess. He hurt people he’d come to care for (maybe not Veronica), and he’d be locked below deck later, handed back over to Dundrasil in a few days. How much worse could it get?

Erik smiled at Juna — not a smirk, for once — and lifted his hand to hover just below her jaw. El’s heart twisted at the sight; watching them gaze at each other tugged at him, called him forward in a way that felt unfamiliar and triumphant and tender at the same time. He took the smallest step forward. 

“Do you want to dance with me?” 

Erik laughed and dropped his hand, the spell broken. He turned to El. “Sorry? You want to _dance_ with me?”

Did he say it couldn’t get worse?

His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and the way Erik’s brows raised made him want to jump off the ship and never return. But it was too late to take it back. 

It was too late to take anything back. 

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Unless you can’t dance?” 

The spread of emotion over Erik’s face was excruciatingly slow; it bounced from incredulity to amusement and back to a frown, and none of them looked like _yes_. With each second that passed, El felt more air being squeezed out of his chest. He didn’t know why he always did this — when had recklessness worked out for him?

When Erik spoke, his voice was soft. “Is that a challenge, Your Highness?”

The grin split over El’s face before he could stop it. In answer, he backed away slowly, towards the dancers and music, and one more night’s freedom from shame.

Erik flashed him a smile. It burned bright, as it always did, from a man who was used to charming everyone he met, but it didn’t reach his eyes. El recognized it for the mask that he had always worn before today, before Derk. He should be sad for that, he thought, but he inexplicably _wasn’t._ His glass was too full of emotions, too empty of alcohol, to deal with any more realness. 

He decided then to lean into Erik’s mask, to take it for his own. Just for tonight.

What could be the harm?

El stretched out his hand to take Erik’s, and he led them away from the railing.

They started to dance near each other, but didn’t touch after El let go of his hand. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sylvando beaming and rallying his motley crew of musicians to play something faster, livelier; Veronica scowled at them and turned her back, muttering something to Serena. Pan danced around the two of them, goading Nayru into joining her.

Having just learned the steps with Sylvando earlier, he found himself missing a lot of them. They weren’t complex, but his body felt what he wasn’t allowing his brain to feel. Juna, on the other hand, would have been a star next to him — if not for the fact that she was caught up in a dance of her own with Aesgir, snapping and lunging at him as he did the same to her.

He ignored them, and missed another step trying to not trip on Juna, which always happened when they danced.

Erik eyed him with amusement. “Isn’t this your specialty, dear prince?”

The teasing didn’t land as hard as his other lines since they’d met; there was a crack there, something beneath that cool exterior, and it gave El what he had been so dearly missing for a step up to Erik’s level.

“I tend to prefer sparring.”

“Really?” Erik drew closer to him, more than necessary. “I’d like to see that sometime.”

El’s smile unfurled slowly. “It’s too bad you’re locking me up, isn’t it?”

The captain’s grin back was devilish.

They stepped closer to each other, even when the music didn’t call for it; it felt like the most perfect blend of impetuous drunkenness he had ever reached. It occurred to him that the other loss that he faced by his time on the pirate ship being cut short was that he would never know Erik’s history, would never _touch him_. He could deal with the former: all he had to do was not think.

But the latter?

As they danced, his surroundings faded into the background: the rest of the crew, the rumbling thunderclouds in the distance. Even the music sounded toneless compared to the brush of Erik’s fingers on his neck, and suddenly, things that were normally as instinctive as breathing stopped feeling quite so easy.

Erik gave a firm tug, pulling El’s entire body into him, hand splayed across El’s chest. He shivered at the sudden contact.

“Remember to breathe,” Erik murmured, breath ghosting over tender skin just behind his ear. Then he released him in a twirl, their fingers holding tight to each other, and at the height of the distance between them, El looked back at him. 

With his arm outstretched and breaths coming hard, Erik wasn’t smiling, but open desire etched across his face. The shock of impact allowed him to breathe; a funny gasp that swept his insides of everything he worried for.

After that, El eased into the motions with the grace of a swan. He remembered the rhythm of his body, just the same as when he had danced in Dundrasil, and for just a moment he felt at home. It exhilarated him: this weightlessness, this whispered promise; for what, he didn’t know, just that he _wanted_ it, more than he’d ever wanted anything.

Floating on this high, he met Erik step for step, and once even spun him in a twirl that mirrored Erik’s from earlier. 

But then the music changed. 

It was slower now, and he didn’t want to check to see who was responsible for it. He felt a drop of that hesitation leak back into him. The quietness of it whispered at him to step away, but he felt glued there by some inexplicable force. Perhaps it was that weightlessness still present in him, just muted by the press of Erik’s fingers against his own. He didn’t know how they’d ended up in that position, and the part of him that he’d shoved down howled in protest. But the rest of him leaned in.

Erik leaned in also, so slightly that El wouldn’t have noticed if all his senses weren’t trained on him. He smelled even more strongly of the sea up close, and El closed his eyes to breathe it in.

“If I were to suggest you come to my quarters tonight,” Erik murmured, turning his hand against El’s to tangle their fingers together, “What would you say?”

He felt the words rush through his whole body. He had to admit that whatever he had said before, he wanted _all of it._ If this was his last night to be free in every sense of the word he could imagine, who was he to say no?

“Depends on what you’d do to me,” El breathed.

Erik’s other hand trailed over his shoulder, thumb brushing lightly over his collarbone. One corner of his lips turned upward in a hint of a smile. “The sort of thing that would get me killed for treason.”

His brain flared in total anarchy. All the feelings swirled together, each one battling to be heard over the clamor. He tightened his hands in the fabric of Erik’s coat at the waist, dizzy with the sensation of their bodies pressed together. “Has that ever stopped you?”

“Never,” he whispered. His teeth grazed the shell of El’s ear, drawing a breathless whimper.

He discarded all of the thoughts in favor of fantasy, imagining Erik pressing him down, dipping his head to bite at the tender skin of his throat. He imagined tangling his fingers in Erik’s hair, breathing deeply in the scent of the ocean, searing it to memory, meeting his mouth in a hungry, wild rhythm.

All he had to do was tilt his head forward.

Part of him knew he shouldn’t: that they were still in full view of every crew member, that he still knew next to nothing about Erik or his motivations. But the opportunity lay there like a match waiting to be struck, its flint sewn from desire and the sensuality of the music seeping into his bones, the magnetic tug of every word the captain whispered, the recklessness of every single action he had taken since meeting Erik. The desire to know, to _be_ known, but all without revealing a single part of himself. It was the exact kind of feeling that was always followed by pounding headaches and regret the next morning. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but strike the match.

El pressed their foreheads together, their lips inches apart, and pulled him impossibly closer. “What if I want it?” 


	8. The Prince’s Lament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> henlo frens!  
> this chapter is a dumptruck of angst I’m sorry  
> I recommend having a nice bath ready to lounge in after or a human/pet to cuddle (if you’re lucky enough to have one of those) (ahaha I'm not bitter)  
> love you thank you for stickin with this crazy story!
> 
> cw first scene:  
> non-explicit sexual situation where characters do not trust each other and are not communicating well with each other, plus an unhealthy power dynamic. also arguably questionable consent depending on your ideological views  
> (did I mention dumptruck of angst?)

The first thing El registered was the sheer size of the captain’s quarters. The windows were slightly ajar, pulling in the call of seagulls and swirling wind. An ornate desk, a little golden bird perched on top, a bed far too neatly made — 

The second thing he registered was the hard thud of wood against his back. 

Erik stepped into him, pinning his hips and curling a hand against the wall at his waist. A gasp escaped his mouth without permission at his entire body subsumed under Erik’s touch. Electricity crackled in his veins and settled somewhere low in his belly, threatening to flow out of him, ablaze, in whatever direction it pleased. _This_ is what he needed. Something to block out all other sensations; to lay waste to shame with nothing less than the force of nature.

Before he could sigh with the relief of it, Erik’s mouth on his neck tugged another breath from him. He tilted his head up by instinct, baring his throat for more.

“I hate royals on principle,” Erik murmured, “but you’re so _delectable_.”

“Maybe you should kiss me, then.”

El surrendered to the press of his mouth, heedless and burning with want; he tasted like whiskey and cinnamon and just the profane edge of divine. His knees were poised to buckle but Erik held him, flush and breathless against the wall. 

The kiss was unnerving in its familiarity. Like he had some sort of sense memory of Erik’s touch, like tugging him closer and holding fast could tether him to sanity. He ruthlessly ignored the part of his brain that howled in protest — _the pirate captain could never tether him to sanity._

El stepped forward when they parted for breath. He leaned into Erik, twisting them around, towards the bed.

But before he could edge them more than a couple of steps, Erik caught hold of his wrists. “I don’t think so,” he said, voice rough and low, pinning El’s wrists to the wall with another thud.

With his body prone, Erik was effortlessly melting all the resistance he could muster. He was going to be stuck on this ship here forever, pinioned by desire, would never know the triumph of his return to Dundrasil. 

_Was_ that a triumph?

“Oh, no,” El said, dismissing the thoughts with a tug of his wrists. “You don’t get to do this.”

Erik pressed a thigh in between El’s legs, spreading him further, drawing a strangled sound from his throat. He smiled against El’s neck. “Do what?” 

“Be in charge of this. Of everything.”

He laughed softly. “Is that so? That’s interesting, because —”

He stopped talking abruptly when El rocked his hips forward, heightening the friction between them. He used the momentary leverage to tug his wrists from Erik’s grip and tangle them instead in Erik’s hair, arching his body to press their chests together. El leaned his head down, lips parted and worshipping the soft skin at his throat. 

Erik gasped and whispered his name. The sound could drown out all of his thoughts for _weeks_.

When he moved this time, Erik let him; they staggered to the bed in a fervent dance. El pressed him down and climbed into his lap, twisting a hand into the blanket for purchase. The feeling of Erik under him was thrilling in its power. He could do anything like this, with the captain at his mercy. Nothing else had to exist, not when El could coax those beautiful noises from his mouth.

“If I recall,” Erik continued, gratifyingly breathless as his arms curled around El’s waist, “I’m not the one who ran away from my kingdom —” 

“Don’t you dare,” El growled. He dragged his nails down the front of Erik’s tunic, pulling the laces loose, his skin hot and yielding and every bit as breathtaking as El could have imagined it. _This isn’t the time,_ his brain repeated in a dizzying rhythm reminiscent of a broken toy. _This is not the time._

But part of him was cracking. He was sobering far too quickly, learning far too rudely that even Erik’s skin was a poor substitute for remorse. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Juna, edging backwards on the floor. He turned away and pulled Erik further in, drawing the sleeves of his tunic down his shoulders.

“— mm, and then, what was it, terrorized the navigator? Followed me against orders?”

El couldn’t listen to any more of it. 

He leaned down to capture Erik’s mouth, teeth dragging across his lips, harder than he meant to — but he wasn’t sorry. Erik wasn’t sorry either, by the way he responded, pulling El in further on his lap, tilting his head to deepen their kiss.

The biting words echoed in El’s mind despite his insistence on replacing them with physical sensation. They crept under his skin from the outside, surrounding him with the terror of being hunted.

Erik released him for air, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and ear. El sucked in a dizzy breath and clutched onto his shoulders. 

“If I’m not very mistaken, I think you want a way to make things better.” Erik moved his way down, sucking tingling bites into his shoulder, his collarbones. His fingers mirrored the motion, unbuttoning down El’s shirt. “A way to, let’s say… repent.”

El leaned back. A shudder ran down his spine, but he couldn’t tell whether or not it was pleasant. Maybe both. “What are you — like this is a _punishment?”_

Erik didn’t confirm if that was what he meant, but would he ever? He just met El’s eyes in the darkness, for a split second, and then his gaze raked down his body. “If you want it to be.” 

His instinctive response was one of desire — he wanted Erik to push him down, to have his way. The other part of him revolted at the idea. He had spent so long searching for ways to pull _Erik_ down, and to give up just because it made his body fall apart? And to pretend that kind of punishment could possibly make up for what had happened in the last week… it was all downright absurd.

But still he _wanted._

His indecision left him defenseless, and Erik’s words from earlier still burned in him like a brand. In a swift movement, Erik lifted him up and flipped him on the bed. He crawled over El, straddling his hips, lowering his body in a tantalizing motion.

“Tell me what you want,” Erik whispered into his ear. 

He tilted his head back into the mattress and let out a soft breath at the pressure of Erik’s body on his. The part of him that craved _more_ — more friction, more pleasure — was too quiet under the force of the emotions tangled in his head, and that alone made him want to shout. 

But he didn’t shout.

“Do whatever you want to me,” El said roughly instead, into the crook of Erik’s neck. And then, softer: “I’m at your mercy.”

As Erik kissed him, the urge to shout dissolved into the foreign tug of something at his eyelids. The feeling of having Erik up close, of having had _freedom_ up close, and seeing that neither of them came anywhere near to sewing up the gaping hole in him — that was worse than anything Erik could do to him.

He closed his eyes and held on to Erik as if he could save him, knowing all the while it wasn’t true.

It wasn’t long before Erik’s fingers twined in his hair. “Hey, what’s going on?”

A clipped exhale escaped him. He felt Erik lift up to look at him, but he didn’t want to be looked at; he kept his eyes stubbornly closed.

“Nothing,” he whispered. “Don’t stop.”

But Erik caught hold of his wrists. “El,” he whispered.

His resistance crumbled at the way Erik’s voice formed his name. It was too soft; he couldn’t deal with someone who didn’t hate him. Opening his eyes didn’t ease his agony. Erik was looking at him, and he caught the briefest glimpse of the captain who must be kind, who must have loved his sister, wherever she was now; it was spelled in the way his eyebrows drew together and held, despite El’s insistence it was fine.

But that’s not how they felt for each other, and would never be. Aesgir’s behavior said as much. El pulled his wrists away, and the glimpse in Erik disappeared just as abruptly.

A high-pitched whine wrenched him out of his narrow focus.

He snapped towards the sound, pulling away from Erik on instinct and sitting up on the bed. 

Juna lay on the floor near them, flat on her stomach, curled up small. Aesgir rose erect over her, his teeth bared in a sinister flare, his throat undulating with restraint. Juna whined again. His heart seized with her — he hadn’t noticed, he’d been so focused on Erik, on his own pain, that he’d ignored _even Juna._

And suddenly, everything that had been threatening to topple that evening — since he had kissed Erik, and to be honest, _well_ before then — it all splintered, finally stoked to an incandescent inferno.

“Take me down,” El whispered. “To the brig.”

Erik leaned forward, took a breath to respond. But then Juna growled, hackles raised, daring him to strike.

“Aesgir, don’t,” Erik snapped. Something in his voice struck something familiar, as if he could have sense memory for that too; this wasn’t the first time Erik spoke to Aesgir that way.

“She’d do best to back off,” Aesgir hissed, his body over Juna’s but eyes flicking towards Erik.

“She wasn’t doing anything to you —”

“How do _you_ know?”

Erik’s gaze splintered downwards in shame. El realized with a start that Erik must have been just as occupied as he was; but El couldn’t look the other way, not now. 

Juna inched away from Aesgir, flattening herself further along the floor. Aesgir had backed down, but his eyes were far from friendly.

“Erik, please.”

The captain sighed. “You don’t have to do this right now.”

“I want to.”

Erik looked away. He rubbed the back of his neck, twining his fingers through wild blue strands of hair. “You _want_ to —”

“I don’t —” El whispered. “I don’t want Juna hurt.”

Erik opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He looked at El with an inscrutable expression, and it made his insides twist.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Fine.”

He was grateful that Erik didn’t comment on the tears in his eyes; or maybe he just couldn’t see them.

♫

When they reached the room below deck and Erik had ushered him into the cell, El turned away and crossed his arms. The cell was small — he could probably reach the other wall with his arm if he strained. A pile of abandoned junk lay in the corner, and a single, naked light flickered from the ceiling.

He expected Erik to leave promptly, but he lingered. “Listen, if you need something…”

“Thanks,” El said curtly.

The captain paused for a moment longer, but didn’t speak again. El dug his fingernails into his arms, so hard they were beginning to hurt; he was determined not to show his weakness. The iron bars whined as they closed, and the sharp jerk of the lock sealed his fate. 

Then all was silent. 

Possibly the first time it had ever been silent since he arrived on the pirate ship. It rang more violently than the slam of any door could. El finally dropped his arms.

The next thing he knew, he was diving for the rubbish in the corner. Hands and arms flying with senseless abandon, brain firing on impulses yanked up from depths that even Yggdrasil couldn’t reach. Tattered old cloth, empty bottles of _Sniflheim’s Finest Whisky_ , cracked pots, a wooden toy sword: all he tossed away. They were pointless, asinine things that wouldn’t help him, but he was powerless to stop his limbs.

He was reaching the bottom of the pile. He let out a wild noise and flung one of the pots against the wall. It shattered. Two rainbow-colored juggling balls fell from it and bounced to the ground, their soft thread punctured by shards from the pot. Juna snapped her teeth at him, growling.

He didn’t even know if he was trying to escape, or what he wanted. It was foolish; even if he got out, he would just be shoved straight back in. But the silence was suffocating him, closing in on him in a way far more efficient than the tiny walls of the cell.

A quick glance back at the bars told that even half of Juna wouldn’t fit through them. Apparently even a pirate ship had better dungeons than his own in Dundrasil.

_Dundrasil._

With the corner eviscerated, the only thing left to do was listen to the whispers in his head. The ones he’d been ignoring ever since he left with Erik, or for maybe his whole life. He didn’t know anymore.

El sank to his knees.

His legs splayed around him in an awkward, almost painful angle. He buried his face in his hands — somehow they had become rough and calloused — and began to cry. 

A violently unwelcome voice whispered in his head. With no sight or sound to smother it, he was forced to listen:

_This is what you’ve chosen._

His body moved without him telling it to; it sank further to the floor of the ship, until his elbows and forearms made contact with the knotted whorls of the wood.

_This is what you’ve chosen, and you didn’t even want it._

From somewhere near him, Juna whined. It was the same noise she’d made in Erik’s quarters when Aesgir had threatened her, full of fear and a heart-breaking twinge of resignation. _El_ had done that to her — the person who she was supposed to trust to have her back at all times. He wanted to apologize, but he was frozen in place.

He collapsed further in on himself. Tears were being wrenched from his eyelids by some damnable force. He pressed his forearms desperately into the side of his head, trying to create a little sanctuary where the tears couldn’t reach him. It was warm and quiet there; he curled up inside it, both body and mind.

But the onslaught wouldn’t be held — the thoughts and memories hit him like physical blows.

_“I’m not afraid of you!”_

_“If you took the throne now, Dundrasil would be the shame of Erdrea.”_

He wailed and dug his nails into his scalp, so hard they broke skin. But instead of keeping out the thoughts, it let them in. He had desecrated his own sanctuary.

The voices forced their way into his head, ricocheting against the walls as if they were really in the room.

_“There he is! We’ve got him now!”_

_“Aesgir!”_

He had closed his eyes at the time, willed himself to see and hear _anything_ but what was happening. It was easy, being propped on Erik’s shoulders and fearing for his life. It was easy to not think about the guard who hadn’t properly feared for his own.

And there was the truth, staring him down among the ruins of his forsaken shelter: his mistakes had quite possibly meant someone losing their life. 

He pressed his forehead further against the wood, clenched his fists, and breathed through his heaving chest.

The worst part was that he would just return like nothing happened. Jasper would hate someone _else_ for what happened, not him. His parents, Jade, even Hendrik and Jasper — they would rejoice at his return, and he would never know just how much they were going through at this moment. Yet here he was, spending his evening drinking alcohol and _kissing_ the person who had taken him, and he didn’t even fucking want it. 

If he had been the shame of Erdrea before… 

…then what was he now?

He stayed motionless on the floor for minutes, or hours, some cruel weaving of time spiraling senselessly on without regard for pain. The ringing silence in his head dulled eventually, replacing itself with an empty nothingness.

When his elbows and knees screamed at him for relief, he shifted onto his side. He faced the wall now, and he stared at it, willing himself to focus on something besides the suffocating stillness. 

He could just make out something on the wall. A pattern of scratches was carved into it, maybe by a daemon. He lifted a hand to run his fingers over the splintered wood. It gave easily under his fingers, and a little wedge of it fell to the floor.

Maybe someone had lain here, just as he was, with the walls closing in on them like an iron grip on their lungs. Maybe they had regretted everything, had gotten up anyway. 

Or maybe they had died here: had a drink of whiskey, juggled a ball or two, and sat down to rest for a final time. El closed his eyes and sighed, his fingers still pressed to the broken wood.

He had to be strong. For his mother, for Jade. For the fallen guard. 

He forced his body up, back on his knees.

“Juna,” he whispered.

As soon as he found her eyes, she looked away.

“I’m sorry. To you, most of all.” 

At the words, she lifted her head. Juna gazed at him with shining, golden eyes, bright despite the dimness of the room. Long whiskers fanned her gentle face. The bottom half of her face and chest were a muted, downy gray that somehow shone too against the hickory brown of the rest of her fur. When she blinked it was like all of him shut down at once, just for that smallest fraction of a breath, before her eyes opened again.

He hadn’t really, truly, looked at her for weeks — maybe even months or years. He didn’t even know how long it had been since she’d been in water, despite being surrounded by it. They’d both suffered for it.

The moment ended; she blinked and lay her head back down, closing her eyes.

“It was stupid to do that with Erik,” El said, for an utter lack of knowing where to begin. “I should have been paying attention to you. Especially because I —” His throat constricted suddenly, but he kept on, determined to make the first amends that mattered. “I-I… don’t really like him.”

Juna just curled in on herself in response. Her only movement was the slight ruffling of her fur as she breathed in and out. He felt his heart crumbling.

“How can I?” he whispered, unsure if he was talking to himself or Juna. “How long have we even been on this ship?” 

Four days, five days? He couldn’t tell anymore. All the days blurred horribly together. Juna buried her nose into her paws, turning away. El sighed. 

“Okay. That’s alright.”

He inched on his knees towards the wall, until he could lean his forehead against it and shut his eyes. Sure, Erik was pretty, prettier than El was prepared to admit. But why should that have to mean anything? And for all the secrets he hadn’t managed to uncover yet, Erik liked to go around messing with people. The way Aesgir had scared Juna — that wasn’t something he could just _forgive._ Was it?

Besides, he was going to leave the ship soon anyway. It wasn’t long before they were due back at The Strand for the Drasilians to hand over the staff. Erik would hand him back over, and that would be that.

Back to Dundrasil — where he was the shame of them all.

His stomach jerked violently. He sucked in a breath, counted them, willed them to keep coming above all other motions of his body. _One. Two. Three._

“Juna, I think…” _Four. Five._ “I think we need to go home.” 

He didn’t want to; in fact, it was the last thing he wanted to do.

Claws pattered at his side. They only paused for a moment before they climbed over his thigh and into his lap. El opened his eyes to her gaze on him. With his head positioned against the wall, she took up all his field of vision.

He leaned over her and cradled her in his arms.

♫

With no window in the room, El lost track of time quickly. A rotation of people appeared to bring him food, but it was never much, and no one seemed keen to make conversation. 

His only clue to the outside world was the violent rocking of the ship. The storm that had been chasing them had finally come, and he wished fervently that he hadn’t shattered the pots.

El fell asleep curled up against Juna, wondering if he would ever see Erik and also hoping that he wouldn’t have to.

He awoke to Veronica and Farore clambering into the room. El nodded and thanked her when they deposited food at his cell, expecting her to turn heel and leave, but she considered him instead. If gazes could kill, he would have been dead weeks ago.

“I’ve been told to inform you we’re arriving in Gondolia tomorrow. You’ll be kept here, under watch, the entire time.”

“Okay,” El said.

Veronica stepped closer, taking hold of the cell bars. “You’re being awfully agreeable.”

“Yep,” El said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Farore inspected him, turning his beak sideways to nudge into the space between bars. Dark, beady eyes met his.

“I saw you and the captain last night,” Veronica continued.

El tilted his head back against the wall. “If you have a question, feel free to ask it.”

“I want you to stay away from him.”

He laughed, but the sound came out harsher than he meant it to. Like he could just waltz out of here. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Veronica gave a snort in response. “Really? With that show you put on?”

Just the words _that show_ brought forward too much sensory information: the goosebumps that had littered his flesh when Erik’s breath ghosted over his ear, the little sighs that escaped him when Erik’s fingers trailed over his hips. El quashed them mercilessly, closing his eyes to meet a gratifyingly blank canvas.

“I’m going home soon,” he breathed.

“Hmm. Captain doesn’t seem to think so.”

Somehow, he managed the sharp _Excuse me?_ to stay in his head. What exactly was she trying to imply? That Erik wasn’t going to hand him back over to the Drasilians? Or that he would get to the staff first?

Were they just going to _keep_ him here?

He forced himself to inhale before he opened his mouth. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

She put a hand to her forehead and didn’t move for an agonizing movement. “Look. It’s not just him I’m worried about.” Then she sank down against the wall, just outside the cell door. “It’s also you.”

El let out the breath he had been holding. “I can handle myself.”

“What do you think happened to his sister, El? To Derk?”

The unspoken warning rattled at his insides, but he was determined not to show it. “I thought you said I didn’t need to worry if I don’t get on his bad side.”

“Yeah,” Veronica said, leaning her head back against the wall too. “That was before I knew he felt for you.”

“ _Excuse me?”_

What an utterly warped, ridiculous — physical attraction was one thing, but _feeling_ for him? Lock up your crush, threaten him, go ahead. Foolproof way to get him to like you back.

El dropped his head in his hands. It felt like every time he spoke to someone, the world tilted on its axis and went careening into oblivion.

But then again, that had been what he’d asked for.

The clang of the lock forced his eyes open. Farore waddled in ahead of her, all preening feathers and elongated neck, glaring at the pile of Juna in the corner. Veronica swung the door closed and sat against the wall across from him. She glanced at the broken pots and whiskey bottles, but didn’t comment on them.

“Listen,” she said softly, twisting her hands into the fabric of her dress. “Aesgir isn’t someone you want to mess around with. And Erik’s an enemy of your kingdom now, El, if you _ever_ try to start something with him —”

“For the last time, I’m not interested —”

“You say what you want. But this isn’t a joke.” Veronica took a deep breath, and her purple eyes shone in the dim light. “Ask him yourself. It’s not like he can lock you up for asking questions. You already are, aren’t you?”

When she smiled, El smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with this chapter I have written 50,000 words on ao3!!!! 🎉 (ok it’s 15 words short of 50,000 but close enough)


End file.
